Us Against The World
by leavenodoubt
Summary: Neither of them can deny that surviving the battle left both of them with greater chaos inside than fighting it. She clings to who she was, finding that part of herself through him. He wants nothing more than to keep her safe, and now he has no choice. Post Skyward Sword: Zelda/Link Rated T.
1. Chapter 1

**I just couldn't stay away.**

**Alas, it is I. Back to my Zelda/Link roots though this time we're on the Skyward Sword side of things. So, for this story I decided that I'm going to have shorter, but far more updates. It won't be like Memento where there was only 14 chapters that were all immensely long. I guess that is really all. And I missed writing from Link's perspective, so I'm going back. Also, interesting fact I just realized, all of my stories, here, and my original novel I wrote, all start with someone waking up. Guess it's like my trademark.**

**Last thing, I totally lied up there when I said "that is really all" I guess... but I got the name of the story from the Coldplay song, Us Against The World. Kind of embodies the relationship here in my professional opinion.**

******I love all you guys so much, and I love writing for you. I don't think fanfiction will ever be rid of me.**

* * *

_Half of my heart's got a real good imagination_

_Half of my heart's got you_

_Half of my heart's got a right mind to tell you _

_That half of my heart won't do_

* * *

My eyes shoot open, my chest heaving with labored breaths. I glance at the open sky above me, a million points of light piercing through the black. I sit, waiting until the world stops swirling around me. I narrow my eyes, finding something sharp in my hand, a smooth surface. I lift it's face to the moonlight, the beams reflecting off a jagged green piece of glass. I hold it back down closer to my eyes, not knowing where it came from, or why I have it. I stand on trembling legs, tucking the piece of glass into my pocket, my joints popping when I reach my arms over my head. There is always a moment of shock when I awake with the sky over me rather than a roof, my muscles seizing as a tingling ache washes over my body. I don't have the slightest idea where I might be, but there is no panic eating at me.

There is no panic because this isn't the first time. Nor is it the second, or the third.

I turn to my left and find that I haven't veered very far off the dirt road through the forest. I'm grateful that the sleepwalking only developed following our move down here. Sleepwalking in Skyloft would have been a death sentence.

I step through the thick underbrush back onto the road, squinting up ahead and finding the silhouettes of houses. I wince then, my elbow succumbing to an overwhelming sting. I twist my arm around and let my eyes fall to the glistening stain on my skin. I must have tripped and skinned my elbow while I was asleep.

I close a hand over the wound, stumbling down the silent path towards the outline of the house I know almost better than my own. I slide the window on the east side open and hoist myself through it, landing on the wooden floor with a soft _thud_. She's asleep, just like I assumed she would be, her face just Zelda's right now.

She stares off sometimes in the day, and I'm sure she's remembering something of a life long past, but when she sleeps she's just the girl I've known since I was a child. I tiptoe across the floor to her and kneel by her bedside, leaning my chin on her mattress. I reach up and gingerly caress my knuckles to her forehead, her fever breaking finally. She breathes out then, almost in relief, and her pink lips remain parted, her warm breath making the hair across her forehead flutter.

How I want to touch those lips.

Her cheeks are flushed, her skin sticky with sweat. I pull her covers up close to her chin, not wanting her to get sick again— she's just started to get over it. I know that she'll be alright, it's just the flu like so many of us had when we were young, but I can't help but worry about her now.

She stirs as the blankets shift over her, and I hold my breath as her glistening eyes lazily open, her brow furrowing when they focus on my face, her pupils dilated.

I break the silence first. "How are you feeling?" I ask her in a hushed voice.

She nods, clearing her throat. "What are you doing here?"

I scratch the back of my head, "I was sleepwalking."

"Did you hurt yourself?" she asks, reaching out with a quivering hand to brush a piece of my hair out of my eyes.

I bite my cheek, she can see right through me. "It's not as bad as the first time," I tell her, lifting my elbow to show her the evidence of tonight.

She props herself up, swinging her legs over the edge of her bed to turn the dial on her oil lamp until a golden flame sweeps away the shadows like cobwebs, the features of her face that had been cloaked in blue taking on their natural tones. She rummages in a drawer for a moment or two and pulls out a bandage. She takes my arm in her lap and wraps in around the scrape on my elbow, securing it with a pin.

She tucks her feet back away beneath her blankets, and shifts over before laying back down. She leaves the blankets by her waist, waiting.

I lift myself cautiously up onto the bed beside her, inching myself underneath the blankets as I lay down. I breathe out in relief, my elbow clawing at my attention with a dull throb, though it immediately is pushed out of the way as Zelda nestles her head beneath my chin. "I'll keep you close," she murmurs, "so you won't hurt yourself again."

I swallow, something she probably notices with her forehead resting against my throat. She takes so much blame for what I did, what happened to she and I. Some of that guilt still resides within her when phantom pains haunt me, or dreams rip me from sleep. For tonight I hope she can sleep well, that she can dream of home and of a time that was quiet. My first night I slept upon the surface, I couldn't find dreams because it had all seemed so loud. Birds calling, bugs chirping, frogs croaking, the wind in the trees and the grass and the water. This was a couple of months after... when our houses were finished being built and we could live here safely and comfortably. She had come to me that night, crept through my window and curled her shaking body into mine. She had spent many nights here on the surface, but always with the constant companionship of her mentor. It was an unspoken agreement, that when the night wouldn't grant us our sleep, that we could find it within each other.

I'd always found it easier to sleep when she was near. Something about the way her breathing hushed the startling sounds, how her heartbeat seemed to drown them out.

She turns knots in my stomach, makes every vein in my body feel as though it carries liquid fire. My every thought is consumed by her presence ever since she fell that day when we flew above the clouds. I cannot fathom what I possibly would have done had I been too late, had she been taken, used for her power.

_She is such a fragile thing_, I muse as I touch her hair, the strands like corn silk, _and yet she has more power within her than I can begin to imagine._

She grew angry with me one evening when I brought it up, she began to cry and push me away from her every time I tried to get close. _"I am just like you,"_ she had told me, her voice raw, her eyes filled with betrayal.

We don't talk about it anymore, there is no need.

But I still think about it, and I know that she does too. She distanced herself from many of her friends back home, from her own father. There was a minute part of her, the part inside her mind that liked to laugh and play that drew away from me. But there was another part, the quiet, still part of her that clung to me for dear life. The part that always wanted to be held, for someone to be holding her to remind her that she's safe. That was the part of her that didn't seem to trust any others.

She's tired, just roused herself from sleep long enough to wrap my elbow. Her breathing is still deep, her chest expanding and contracting against mine. She flinches once, startling me though she's still lost amongst dreams as I hold my breath, waiting for her to wake. She's safe now, safe until morning. I pry myself away from her, our skin sticking together from her damp forehead and hair. I burrow my fingers into the soft golden waves and push them back off her temples, wanting beyond all else to lean down and press my lips to her face.

My heart pounds behind my ribs, an ache burning inside my stomach as I gaze down upon her. There is no one else in this home, I could easily lay back down and no one but she and I would ever know.

But that twisting in my stomach makes me leave the room, cut myself off from her. I sit down in a rocking chair in the kitchen, taking a deep breath through my nose as I bury my face in my hands. I kissed her once when we were young, only six years old, on the other side of the lake where no one would see us. We counted to three and then pressed our lips together, giggling about it after. We thought we'd be in trouble if her father found out, so it remained a secret between us. Even now it hasn't managed to leave either of our lips.

I am very close to sleep, my head propped against my fist, when I hear footsteps on the floor. I jump, waking myself as my chin snaps up, seeking out the person the footsteps belong to.

Her eyes gaze down at me, doleful and searching my face. "Why did you leave?" she asks me.

I fidget in the chair, straightening myself up a bit. "I'm sorry," is all I can think to say.

"It's so hot," she murmurs. It's true, in the mid-summer the air is dense and still holds the heat of day in the dead of night. "I keep waking up."

I stand up then, taking a step towards her to meet her. I gently press the back of my hand to her cheek, then to her forehead. "You feel much cooler though," I tell her.

"When I was sick I felt like I was freezing," she says.

I nod, remembering sitting by her bedside as she trembled, goosebumps rising on her skin while I tried to cool the fever with a wet cloth. "Let's go outside," I tell her, a small grin teasing the corners of my lips.

She smiles too, the first time I've seen the real flicker of light in her eyes since she fell ill, and follows me out her front door. "Come on," I murmur to her after she shuts the door behind us, reaching out my hand to her.

She slips her warm fingers into mine, lifting up the skirt of her nightgown in her other hand, so she can run. "Where are we going?" she asks, the whisper of excitement fluttering in her words.

"You'll see," I say with a smirk, half-jogging as I lead her down the path.

"Link!" she whispers, interrupted by a laugh as we swerve off the path and stumble down a hill, the cool air hitting us like a surge of adrenaline.

I smile, but only for the stars watching us. I love the sound of my name when she says it.

"It's just a bit farther," I say back to her as we pass under a stone arch, the smells of the forest evolving to something lighter, like when Skyloft would pass through a storm cloud and droplets of water hung in the air like crystals. The sounds of the creatures of the night fade away, the distant sound of a waterfall swallowing them.

When we burst through the treeline she sees it, the calm lake, the starlight bouncing off it's glassy surface. She lets my hand slip through her grasp as she continues running towards the sandy banks, and into the black water, glistening beads kicking up behind her. She holds her arms outstretched like wings, like she could take to the sky should the wind choose to take her with it, her face up to the glimmering stars. "It's cold," she murmurs, her ethereal blue silhouette outlined in silver.

I stop a few steps behind her so that the water only reaches my ankles. Half of my mouth lifts into a smile, but there is a pain in my heart, a pain that doesn't allow it to become full. A pain born from a need for her.

She drops her arms gracefully to her side, twisting her torso towards me as she extends a palm, "Are you coming?" she asks.

I let my gaze rest on her palm before I cover it with my own, allowing her to pull me towards her before she winds her arms around my waist, mine wrapping protectively around her shoulders as I lean my temple into the top of her head. I don't mind that the tide laps at my shins, dampening my pants just as the hem of her dress drifts lazily in the calm surf.

"Link," she whispers.

"Yeah?" I ask quietly.

"Thank you... for staying down here with me."

I squeeze her tighter, in the depths of night and with the lake surrounding us it looks as though we're drifting through the stardust in the open sky. I can feel her pulse drumming beneath her skin, her heartbeat against my ribs. _Just like me._

My jaw is set tight as my eyes close, a muscle by my cheekbone twitching as if in pain. I can feel each of her fingers against the muscles of my back, keeping me pressed tight against her. I can feel the tension within her, that part of her that doesn't trust others is screaming.

It's asking if she's safe.

It's asking if I'll keep her there.

I reach up and cup the back of her neck in my hand, warm skin against warm skin. She sighs, the part of me that fears everything, that fears life, fears death, the part of me that I've only ever shown her, telling her _yes._

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**Thank you for reading. I would love it if you would subscribe or review... or both! You'd be such a champ in my books.**

**-Leave No Doubt**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys. Wow, I was so impressed with all the good feedback on chapter one. You guys are awesome! Hope you like this one just as much.**

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_I know you're scared that I'll soon be over it_

_That's part of it all_

_Part of the beauty of falling in love with you_

_Is the fear you won't fall_

* * *

The sun rises early, the heat already seeping into the earth and into my skin. Images flicker through my mind; Zelda in the water, in my arms, laying beside me on the grass as we looked up at the stars, our hands tracing pictures from one glimmering light to another.

We fell asleep here on the grass, I don't need to open my eyes to know that much. I don't feel disoriented upon waking this time, not like when I woke with the dark sky above me, the piece of glass in my hand.

But when I do open my eyes, a spark of confusion does strike cold in my heart.

She's not beside me like she was.

I sit up, glancing frantically around until my eyes fall upon gold hair cascading down the back of a white nightgown. Not too far from where I lay, she sits on the sand, her knees pulled up to her chest and her feet in front of her so that as the water laps up the banks, it reaches her toes. The hem of her dress soaks up some of the clear water as it sinks away into the sand, but she doesn't seem to mind, or notice for that matter.

Her hands rest on the damp ground beneath her knees, mindlessly toying with the gritty sand, the water touching her fingertips every now and then. She's gazing out across the lake. I wonder what she's seeing.

I stand up, wandering closer to her before I sit down beside her, leaning my arms on my knees and resting my chin there. She doesn't look towards me, but keeps her eye fixed somewhere unknown across the lake.

"Do you miss them?" she asks me quietly, her gaze never faltering, "The people back home, I mean."

I lay my cheek on my arms, turning my face to watch her when I speak. "A bit."

Her eyes narrow though only slightly. "I don't," she says as if the fact surprises her.

"What about all of your friends?" I ask.

She chews on her lip, seemingly struggling for words, "It's hard to... explain to them."

The subdued torment on her face makes my insides twist, makes something at the base of my throat burn. "And your dad?"

"He's down here so often... it's as if he does live here though," she points out. Especially with her being sick, her words are true. He was down here every day to make sure she was alright.

"Do you think he'll move down?" I ask her.

"He tells me he wants to, though I don't know if it's the truth. He grew up in Skyloft, lived there his whole life. He has the Academy, friends, students... he'd be giving up a lot of it to be here," she explains quietly, "he told me he's trying to choose a new headmaster to replace him, but I don't know if he ever will."

"But you're his daughter, I think he'd give up anything for you."

"Maybe I don't want him to," she says, her gaze finally shifting though just to look down at her toes.

I breathe out slowly, unsure of what to say to console her. I know that she thinks he doesn't see her the way he used to, when she was just Zelda, when she wasn't someone of great importance, except that of being his little girl. There are only few of us that know of her past; myself, her father, Groose and Impa. She didn't want the others to know, didn't want their eyes to change like her father's did. She had tried so hard to keep on as if things hadn't changed, to smile and laugh with the girls from her class and the children that idolized her, but things _had_ changed. We both knew that.

"It doesn't matter... he won't leave Skyloft," she murmurs, her eyes returning to the distance. The water reflects the sunbeams into the liquid blue of her eyes, making them glimmer.

"Why do you think that?" I ask her.

"It's where Mom is," she says softly, finally turning those beautiful eyes to mine.

I nod once. "Yeah," I mumble.

"Sometimes I wish I was older when she died, so that I could at least have some memories of her... but then sometimes I'm glad it happened when we were so young, so that I wouldn't miss everything I had," says Zelda quietly.

"How old were we?" I ask, trying to count back the years.

"I was three, so you were either three or just barely four," she says.

"Hmm," I murmur, resting my chin on my arms, "I feel like I remember so much about my parents. But then I think that maybe I was making some of it up. Remembering things differently than how they happened."

She shrugs a shoulder, "Don't question it. You'll spend your life wondering."

"I won't," I assure her, sitting back up straight and loosely wrapping my arms around my knees.

She reaches with her outside arm across the short distance between us and settles her hand on my forearm, the hairs on the back of my neck standing upright. She leans her head down onto my shoulder, the smell of her hair and her skin and the water she touches, tantalizing. Her fingers glide carefully up my arm, tracing over the veins beneath the surface, my pulse racing.

"Link," she says. I can't help but love and hate the way my name sounds when it comes from her lips.

"Yes?" I ask in a whisper.

"Are you troubled?" she asks me delicately.

I swallow, "No."

She lets out a sigh, and I can see the shadows of her eyelashes fluttering along her cheekbones. "Your heart is beating so fast."

I clear my throat, pulling away from her. "It's nothing to concern yourself with," I mutter, climbing to my feet, "your dad should be here soon. We should probably get back."

I turn away, my face burning and flushed, and begin to hike back up the hill from the way we came. I want to go back to being clueless.

I hear her quick footsteps behind me—trying to keep up I assume—but before I can even turn around, I hear an ecstatic yelp from her mouth and her hands are on my shoulders, before she leaps off the ground and clings to my back. I almost fall, stumbling before I steady myself against a tree as an elated laugh escapes my lips, her legs winding around my waist and her arms around my shoulders in a piggyback. "You can't get away from me that easily, Mister Hero," she mocks in a deep, growly voice, "I'm not going to let go until you stop acting so serious."

"It seems you cannot be stopped," I say through a laugh, holding onto her legs.

"That's a little bit better," she says, touching my nose with her fingertip, "but I'm still not letting go."

I roll my eyes, continuing to climb steadily back up to our homes, "Too lazy to walk?"

"Oh don't be so self-righteous, Link," she chides playfully.

"I'm not being self-righteous, you're just being a princess is all," I tell her, just trying to irk her patience enough. It's an ongoing game we play; who can make the other snap first.

She scoffs, "A princess, really?"

"I'd say so, yes."

"Oh, you are an arrogant little commoner, aren't you?" she says, a smirk in her voice.

"Commoner? I don't get anything better than that for saving the Princess's life?" I ask her.

"Well what do you ask of me, Sir Link? To be officially dubbed with knighthood?" she asks me, putting on a regal voice.

"I think I should at least be granted the title of Duke, or Count, or at least Earle," I say.

She unwinds her legs then, touching back down onto the ground and finding her own feet. "And who would be my King? King of the Surface?"

"Well, Highness, we're going to have to think of a better name for this place if we want suitors to take us seriously," I say once I've turned around to look at her again.

I turn back around, waiting for her to fall into step beside me, but instead she hitches herself back onto my back, hugging my hips between her knees. "You could be the King, and I could be the Queen. Just the two of us living down here," she murmurs into my ear.

The tone of her voice makes me think that she's dropped the pretenses of our game, that her suggestion carries more truth in it than not. I swallow, trying to keep my concentration on the road towards her home, rather than on her chin resting in the hollow between my neck and shoulder. "Just the two of us? It might get kind of lonely, Princess." She doesn't respond, I just feel her jaw shifting over the muscles in my shoulder, like she's chewing on her lip. The part of her that drew away from me, the part that had decided to surface for just a few moments, backs away into it's solitude again. "But I never liked talking much... not with anyone but you," I add to ease her conscience

She makes a small sound of appreciation, but otherwise remains silent until we reach her home.

I narrow my eyes, my heart stopping for half a second when her front door suddenly swings open. She glances up, gasping before the familiarity of the man in the doorway soothes our worry.

"Zelda?"

She lets go of me, sliding off my back as I let go and onto the ground, "Dad, I didn't think you'd be by so early."

"Wanted to be here when you woke up," he says, before turning his attention to me, "Link, good to see you."

"Sir," I say.

"I'll see you later," Zelda says just for my ears.

"Right, see you," I say quietly before turning back around on the road toward my own house. I try to ignore the mumbling I hear between Zelda and her father, no doubt an explanation as to why she wasn't at home so early in the morning.

I shove my hands in my pockets, sucking in a sharp breath when something pricks my finger. I pull my hand out, rubbing away the bead of blood on my middle finger before reaching back into the pocket with greater caution, and extracting the jagged piece of glass inside.

I hold it tight in my hand all the way home, hoping that maybe it can connect me to the time that I drift in between sleep and consciousness, the time where the memories of when I was small make more sense.

* * *

_They leave the doors open between twelve and one for the night patrol to switch off. This is when the rest of us are supposed to be asleep._

_ I climb quietly from my bed, hoping not to wake any of the other students when I open and close my bedroom door, my feet bare to keep the sound of boots from echoing down the hallway. I've been doing it for the past few months, ever since I turned ten, so my heart doesn't jump erratically at every sound like it did the first. It's why I don't notice until it's too late that there is another presence in the hall._

_ "What are you doing?" they whisper, just as I'm about to open the front door._

_ I freeze, my hand still on the knob as I turn to find her, the moonlight filtering through the foggy windows illuminating her confused face._

_ I shake my head, "Nothing."_

_ "You're going outside, aren't you. You know we're not supposed to," she whispers as she draws closer to me, not necessarily reprimanding me, just reminding me._

_ "I have to go," I say, about to twist the knob._

_ "Where? Where will you go?" she asks me, concern written in the way her brows knit together._

_ "I'm not going far, and I'll be back soon," I tell her gently._

_ Suddenly her warm palm is covering mine, staying my hand. "...Can I come?" she asks hesitantly._

_ "You won't tell anyone," I say, not asking, but demanding it._

_ She shakes her head, the light of curiosity in her eyes._

_ I nod once, twisting the doorknob and stepping out into the quiet night, letting her hold onto my sleeve as we're enveloped in darkness. _

_ We follow the path that leads through town, towards the rush of the waterfall on the lake. We cross the bridge quietly, the bottoms of our feet cold on the stone, the night air brushing cool fingers over our faces and hands. Zelda's nightgown sweeps along the worn down road, slipping off her shoulder, goosebumps rising where she's not covered. She doesn't ask where we're going again, she waits with quiet anticipation._

_ She lets go of my arm when we find the place I'd set out for alone, allowing me the space to sit for a few moments in silence. I rub my thumb over the engraving of my mother's name on the stone that marks her place in the ground. Right next to hers is my father's, the final date inscribed on each of them just one day apart._

_ Zelda wanders up beside me and kneels at my side, slipping her hand into mine and squeezing it gently. I wouldn't let her do this at school, in front of the other kids, but when we're alone I don't mind as much._

_ I vaguely remember the day, almost seven years ago now, where we both sat in this graveyard, unsure exactly of what was happening at our respective parents' burials. Zelda's father held her in his arms as he grieved, while Professor Owlan held my toddler's hand and tried to explain that my mom and dad had to go, and that they couldn't come back. He took me to live with Headmaster Gaepora and Zelda at the school until I was six years old and able to start training as a knight at the academy. All of my things were already in my bedroom there when I arrived, already moved so I wouldn't have to go back to my home._

_ I did go back to my old house several times though, opening the unlocked side window and climbing onto my parents' abandoned bed and smelling the sheets, imagining that they lay on either side of me._

_ Owlan told me years later that on that day, when all of us were dressed in white, I asked him if Zelda was one of the angels that took Mommy and Daddy. Even then she'd looked like something from beyond the skies. _

_ Zelda sucks in a breath then, bringing me back to the night we're sharing our secrecy with, and it takes me a moment to realize she's crying. I don't tell her not to cry, or offer words of comfort, I just let her until she doesn't need to anymore. I let her wipe her eyes on my sleeve._

_ I don't tell myself that her loss is any less than mine, or that she should be grateful for her father. Sure, she still has him, still has something. But that doesn't change the fact that she lost someone very important, someone she will never have back. I guess if it weren't for her and her dad, I would feel as if I didn't have anything. They have become my family, taking care of me for almost my entire life. I know things could be worse for me, but I have them, so sometimes the hard things don't seem so difficult._

_ It's part of the reason why Groose and his friends hate me so much. They think her father favors me because of it, they think that Zelda only treats me the way she does because we've been together since our earliest childhood._

_ I don't try to explain myself to him anymore. _

_ I come here to where they're buried to talk to them sometimes, especially if I'm upset or angry. I feel silly doing it now, with Zelda so close, but I whisper something simple to them, something so that they know I'm here and I'm thinking of them. "I miss you."_

_ It's silent for a long time after that, until Zelda says, "I... I hear you speaking to them sometimes, when you're alone. Why do you do that?"_

_ I shrug one shoulder. "Makes me feel better," I answer after a moment's hesitation._

_ "Do they ever answer you?" she asks quietly, her voice still raw from her tears earlier._

_ I let out a deep breath, and shake my head._

_ "My mother never answers me either," she murmurs._

_ I stand up, pulling her with me. "We should be getting back," I say._

_ She nods as we walk back to the Academy, her fingers still laced in mine. We don't speak on the way home, we don't speak of it the next day. But I see the way her eyes follow mine before we separate to our dorms before bed, searching mine in a fleeting glance. She doesn't follow me the next time I leave through the front door just after midnight, but I see her silhouette watching from behind the foggy glass windows, a hand against the pane. _

_ I tell my parents all about her, about how I think she might be an angel after all._

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	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everbody. Just a quick little update here. Hope you guys like it :) Took inspiration this week from Lady In The Water (one of my faves so big surprise, huh?). The plot is beginning to thicken...**

* * *

_Well you know I hardly speak_

_When I do, it's just for you_

_I haven't said a word in weeks_

_Cause they've been keepin' me from you_

* * *

She goes back to Skyloft with her dad for the day. He wants her to see Professor Owlan to make sure that she's better. Even just knowing that she's gone makes the whole of the forest seem quieter, emptier. I fix myself breakfast, try to find things to do to preoccupy myself like washing my clothes and straightening up the small place I call home.

I fill a wash basin with clear water and dampen a cloth in it, trying to clean myself up the best I can. I mop it along the back of my neck, down the collar of my shirt. I roll up my sleeves, cupping my hands into the water and splashing it on my face, combing it through my hair. I lean over the basin, one hand on each side of it's table and look at myself in the mirror just above it. I watch the water gather at my chin and then drip off into the bowl, creating little ripples around it.

I let out a heavy sigh, turning away from the mirror, unable to look at myself any longer. I take a dry towel and cover my face and head with it, quickly toweling off my hair before I walk outside, crossing my arms and looking up at the sky towards her. I think I see one of the loftwings, but it's so high up I can't be sure.

The day is pleasant, warm though the high barricade of lush greenery shades us from the overwhelming heat. The light trill of the small birds that find haven above me envelop the wood in harmony. A smile quirks at my lips as I pick up my feet and step off the path into the dark of the forest, yearning to explore the place I've seen so little of. One day I'll take Zelda out, and we'll find the names for the different places around us, and we'll imagine what the world will look like when it is filled with people like us. It's an odd sensation at times, knowing that she and I are the only two people we know of on the whole of the surface. I briefly wonder where Impa's people are, or if they already know we're here.

My thoughts quickly dissipate though when I hear something, something not necessarily worth worrying about, but something quite out of place.

Laughter.

Or was it? Did I mistake the call of a bird as laughter?

I keep my feet moving steadily forward, following the path the sound has left for me. There, again. I swear it sounds like children's laughter, but it's distant, somehow skewed.

I've been walking for longer than I thought I would, the sound further than I'd initially thought, but soon I see a break in the trees. I slow my tread, pushing aside a low branch and step into an open grove. The grass is thick and deep green, a cliff making a stone wall along the far side, water falling into a pool below.

But they aren't what catch my attention. There are glowing spheres dancing through the small area, some appear as though they're chasing one another, bouncing gracefully with a lilt like that of a fairy... but they're not fairies.

Again I hear the distant laughter, like it's from a memory.

One of the spheres spins around my shoulder, and I laugh despite myself as it's followed by another, the sound of secret, echoing laughter traveling with them.

They're souls, spirits of the forest.

When Zelda and I were younger we used to sneak into her father's study and look through his books, look at the pictures of the mythical surface world. There were stories in them about wandering spirits, without a guardian they took on a nondescript form, like that of a sphere of light. They would gather in a place of peace and wait, sometimes for hundreds of years for a guardian to give them a concrete form.

They're beautiful as they are however, pure in every sense. I hold out my palm as one drifts past me, and it settles in my hand for just a moment before it flutters off again, my eyes following it into the blue sky.

They aren't like fairies in that their form alters and morphs as they move, always changing, elongating as they fly, and then rippling when they pause. I watch them all, mesmerized at the beauty of them.

Zelda would love this.

I wonder though... if she already knows about them, not her, exactly, but Hylia. Surely, she knows about the things of her own world.

A pang of disappointment interrupts the pleasant feeling that had filled me just moments ago. I want her to see this place, feel the infectious joy that spills from the wandering spirits, just so that she might feel like she used to. She was always so full of life before she fell to this world, and now there are things like her past life and duty that wear her down.

But would she even care? Would she care if she already knew it was here?

I bite my lip, looking down and following the bent grass I'd stepped on back out, back into the trees. I will bring her back, bring her back so we can give the home of the forest souls a name. Just like we planned.

I wander for most of the morning, in and out of the woods and down by the lake. I mark the tree that led me to the spirits' grove, and sit beneath it as I eat a bread roll with soft cheese on it for lunch. I try to fill the day with as many mundane things as possible, just to keep my mind occupied on something other than her.

I overturn the dirt behind my house and plant seeds that Zelda had brought down from Skyloft, pumpkin, tomato and carrot seeds among them. I'm not sure if they'll ever end up growing, I'd never been good at keeping them from dying. I apologize to them in advance.

I eat a meager meal once the sun disappears from the sky, just a bowl of broth but it's enough for the day. I wait for Zelda to come by until it's completely pitch black, and I struggle to keep my eyes open. She must have decided to stay the night in Skyloft, so I only pray that I'll be able to find sleep soon, that I won't succumb to the sounds of the forest tormenting my dreams and keeping them from reaching me. I pray for her safety above all else.

She will be back by morning, I have to tell myself, she is safe where she is and I needn't worry about her. But her face doesn't stray far from my mind, it makes me restless, makes the forest seem too quiet. I sigh, closing my eyes and trying to lay completely still long enough for my body to shut down.

Sleep has almost claimed me when I hear my door open and then abruptly slam closed, my skin prickling as I jump, the loud sound startling me. I sit up straight as the sound of heavy footfalls echoes throughout my home, someone running across the wooden floor. My heart is already pounding by the time I hear a crashing in the kitchen, and then a dull thump, like something collapsing to the floor, as I hurry from my room to seek out the cause.

When I burst into the kitchen, the only sound is a pained whimpering coming from her form, blanketed in blue shadows and curled up on the floor by the cupboards, her knees pulled up to her chest. I rush to her side and kneel beside her, turning her tear-stained face towards mine. It's then that I notice the rattling of something against the ground, a sharp knife in her hand that rests on the floor, one she'd taken from my drawers.

I take it from her rigid grasp, a thousand things flying through my mind. "Zelda, what happened?" I ask, panic flooding my voice.

She shakes her head, ragged breaths ripping their way through her throat, aggravated sobs keeping her from saying much of anything. She's beginning to hyperventilate, her whole body trembling as I try to slow her breathing. She buries her head in her hands, clutching her hair in her fists and rocking back and forth as she cries. At a loss of what to do, I strike a match and light a candle on the windowsill, the warm light flickering throughout the room and casting long shadows. When I kneel back beside her I notice something I didn't see in the dim light.

Her dress, falling only past her knees exposes her long, slim legs, covered in deep gashes that sometimes start at her knee and end at her ankle. They almost look like... claw marks.

My eyes widen at the blood on her legs, at the clean slices in her flesh. "Zelda, how did this happen?" I ask desperately.

She just shakes her head, her hands shaking violently now as she covers her face, sobbing.

I look at the knife that remained in my hands, and back at Zelda. "_What did this to you?_"

* * *

"Thank you for coming so early."

"I'm glad you sent for me... I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner."

I shake my head, "You were here as soon as you could be, I understand."

Headmaster Gaepora looks down as he enters my home, "Where is she?"

"She's sleeping," I say quietly as I close the door behind him, "I carried her into my room and put her into my bed so she could try and relax. She fell asleep there."

The early morning rays of sun have burned through the uncertainty of night, have given me some sort of relief after what I saw. I offer him a chair at the table which he takes with a weak smile, a silent thank you. "And her wounds?"

"Not overly serious, I bound them as best I could," I explain, sitting down across from him.

"Thank you," he says again. He hesitates a moment before asking, "Did she say...?"

I shake my head once, "She wouldn't tell me anything, or... I couldn't calm her down enough to tell me anything. I've never seen her so scared."

"Have you been up all night?" he asks me, the suspicion probably stemming from the dark circles beneath my eyes I know must be there, the bloodshot whites.

"I couldn't sleep after it..." I say gently, "this thing that attacked her, it must have been quite big. The claw marks on her legs were deep, almost like it had tried to grasp onto her. I feel like I would have seen something this big before if it was so close to us. I thought all of the monsters were gone from this area."

"They were... after Demise..." Gaepora mutters.

"Do you have any idea what it could have been?" I ask.

He takes a deep breath, holding it in and weighing it on his tongue uneasily. "One," he finally manages to say.

"What?" I ask, trying to keep the desperate impatience reined in.

"The Arnacht," he begins, his voice low, "I've only ever read of it... just in books about the legends of the Goddess Hylia. But all legends seem to have some truth to them now, don't they?"

"What's the Arnacht?" I ask, ignoring the latter part of his statement.

"It's a manifestation of greed, anger, the things that Hylia sought to put an end to when she lived upon this world. The legend says that it festered within a deep chamber in the ground, a place where the regrets of the dead lingered, and took shape. It's said to look like a wolf, but bigger, taller. With teeth like a serpent, a barbed tail, and sharp, talon-like claws... ones that could inflict the kind of damage you described. The Arnacht's sole purpose in living is to destroy Hylia, to be able to free itself," he finishes, his eyes lost somewhere far away.

"From what?" I ask.

He glances down towards me, his brow furrowing slightly, "From life."

I narrow my eyes, "I don't understand, why don't we just destroy it then if it so desperately desires death?"

"No, we can't. It can only be freed from it's current state if Hylia herself has passed on. I suppose you could say that they're like two sides of the same coin," he says, worry and anxiety written upon the downward curve of his lips.

"Then let's take her back to Skyloft, get her away—"

"That won't work," he says abruptly, "the Arnacht has seen her now. It cannot be stopped, it will find a way. You must remember that it is not of our world, distance will not hinder it."

"Then what?" I ask, my voice losing all determination as I realize what he says.

He blinks, seemingly flustered, "I don't know."

A creaking in the floorboards gathers both of our attentions, causing us to turn towards the doorway to my bedroom where a sleepy Zelda stands, her eyebrows pulled together anxiously. "Daddy?"

"Zelda," Gaepora says, standing up to go to the aid of his daughter. He says something quietly to her, smiling down at her face and kissing her forehead before leading her back into my room. I wait at the table, inwardly suffering at the prospect of Zelda being in so much danger, but then also at the fact that we're not even sure yet if the _Arnacht_ is what went after Zelda in the first place. I stand once he returns, closing my door behind him. "I will return later this evening. The Arnacht will not attack during the day, it only travels at night, but it will be watching, camouflaged. Keep Zelda close. I need to gather more information," he says as he steps past me towards the front entrance.

"Okay," is all I can say before he's left once more. I watch from the window as he mounts his loftwing and takes to the sky, leaving us here alone again.

I run my fingers through my hair, panic entering my chest. How am I supposed to protect her this time? How am I supposed to protect her if the only way to destroy the thing that hunts her, is to kill her?

"Link?"

I whirl around, finding her standing where she was when she'd first woken. "Hey, how are you feeling?" I ask quietly as I slowly make my way towards her, trying to gather my courage for her sake.

She doesn't respond, her lips trembling until I stand just a foot away from her. She takes the final step and wraps her arms around my waist, shuddering against me. She nestles her face into my chest, slipping her feet between mine as if she wants to be as close as physically possible. I wrap my arms around her shoulders, rubbing her back soothingly as she lets out a shaky sigh. "Don't tell me that things will be alright... okay?"

I breathe out against her hair, pulling her tight against me, wishing that I could. But it would be a lie, and she knows it to be true. "Okay."

* * *

**Soo... this is a bit of a situation, yes? Subscribe, alert, review, whatever the kids are doing these days.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey buddies. Thanks everybody for reading, I'm getting lots of readers who are reading all the way through which makes me super happy. The worst is when I check the story stats and like everyone only read the first chapter of what I wrote. So sad. BUT, that is not the case with this story because I think I've found the best readers ever. Am I right? I do hope you enjoy this chapter as well :)**

* * *

_Don't you dare look out your window darling;_

_Everything's on fire_

_The war outside our door keeps raging on_

* * *

We find ourselves tucked away into a corner on the floor, her back against one wall, mine against the other. Her legs rest in my lap as I unbind them, dipping a sponge in a bowl of cool water and dabbing it on the swollen gashes. There's a tin pot of a numbing salve I had stored away in a cupboard beside the bowl, imprints in the gelatinous substance from my fingers. I gently run my coated fingertips along the lengths of the marks in her skin, covering the open wounds.

She had waited patiently in the same place she sits in now while I had boarded up my windows, bracing them for later tonight, and I had joined her once I was finished, lifting her legs over mine to treat them. She barely winces, barely moves though I have to glance apologetically at her a couple times when I notice her toes flinch.

"I don't want to talk about it," she finally says quietly after some time, my concentration still fixed on the marks in her flesh, "because I know... I know we'll talk about it a lot later. But would you tell me what my dad said to you? What he said it was?"

I shift my gaze to her for a moment, pained at the thought of her bearing the knowledge I do. "He called it the Arnacht."

I swallow, waiting in silence as her knees bend, lifting them from my lap as she bows her head and clutches at the back of her hair. "Thank you for telling me," she mumbles, her voice thick.

Guilt churns in my stomach as I wonder if I should have told her or not. It's clear she knows what her father was referring to, it's clear she understands the consequences of it's chase. I reach gingerly and touch my hand to her unscathed knee, wishing I could find words to tell her how sorry I was. Her legs relax back into my lap, her white knuckles softening as she releases the grip on her hair and lets her head lean back against the wall, her eyes on the ceiling as silent tears form in her eyes. I avert my eyes from hers, returning them to the clean bandages by my side and wrap them around her calves.

I want to tell her that it won't touch her. But my lips don't move.

* * *

"I think it's best if Zelda stayed with you... if that's alright." I'm stunned into silence, wondering if he's suggesting what I think he is. Gaepora sighs as if reading my hesitance, "I mean, it would be safer if you two were living under one roof. Do you understand what I'm proposing?"

"I... I think so," I mutter, my eyes still slightly wider than usual.

His lips set into a grim line as he anxiously rubs his forehead, "The fact of the matter is that I can't be down here for her all the time, I have duties, the Academy... and even if I could, I wouldn't be able to protect her like I know you can. I fear I would be a liability, someone else to keep safe. You've saved her once."

"I'll take care of her," I tell him.

He nods once. "In the legend, the Goddess had a protector, a guardian, that could ward off the Arnacht while she fulfilled her duty. I think that could be you, Link," he says, his voice growing quieter. "And I can't believe I'm saying this," he says with a flustered wave of his hand, "but I think she would be safest if she were to live with you for the time being."

My eyes open wider. "I—in my house?" I stutter.

"Yes," he replies curtly, confusion in the set of his thick white brow.

I nod abruptly, proving to him I understand the task at hand, though my cheeks grow warm at the prospect.

"And before you go getting any silly ideas," he says in that fatherly tone I've grown up with, "I think it's important to... let's see, maintain... boundaries... if you will." He clears his throat, effectively avoiding eye contact with me while the slight blush in my cheeks begins to burn crimson. "She's a, um... young lady, and you're a young man, but you need to treat her with the same care, and caution you always have. I know you two are older now, and there are hormones—"

"I completely understand," I say, cutting him off, "trust me, Sir, nothing will happen."

He grins weakly under his white beard, "I know. I do trust you."

"I'll take care of her," I repeat, my eyes down, my cheeks scorching.

He pauses for a moment, before he says, "I know."

"Have you told her?" I ask, "I mean, about her living here?"

"I mentioned it to her when I came back down. I think she heartily agrees with me. She's at home, packing some of her things up if you wanted to head over there." I nod, standing up with a flicker of desire in my heart, the desire for her to be near again. "Make sure you're back before nightfall, and make sure you keep the doors shut tight," he murmurs as he makes his way to the door and just beyond where his loftwing awaits him. I don't feel pressure though he leaves me here to defend his daughter, I feel completely calm.

Even as I stroll down the sheltered path to her house, the eyes of the beast lurking in the shadows undoubtedly following me, all I feel is a urgent thrum in every vein in my body to see her, to feel her skin and know that she's okay. I open the door gently upon my arrival, knocking once though I've already entered her home. She pokes her head around her bedroom door frame and smiles gently at me, a dress in her hands. "I'm almost finished," she says before disappearing again. Just as quick though, she reappears, "my dad did talk to you, right?"

I smile to reassure her, "Yes, he did."

"And... it's alright with you?" she asks hesitantly.

"Of course," I say a little too quickly, her lips quirking into a grin, "I mean... it'll be safer."

"Thank you," she says sincerely, looking down as she picks her bag up off the ground. "I think I'm ready to go."

"Alright," I say, following her as she leaves her home behind, finding one within mine. I take the bag from her hands, slinging it over my shoulder so she can walk comfortably towards my house. I can see in her eyes, just being out here, vulnerable, makes her feel terrified. She walks closer to me than she normally would, our arms brushing, her fingers holding onto the cuff of my sleeve. A bird flutters from one tree to another above us and she jumps, instinctively glancing towards the noise with a quiet gasp. I wait until she fixes her eyes on the road again again to take mine away from her.

"You can sleep in my room," I tell her upon our arrival as I carry her things through the door and set them down on my bed, "I'll sleep out here."

"Okay," she mumbles, chewing on her lip.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, running my eyes over her troubled face, perfect amidst the torment.

She nods, her cheeks glowing in the strips of burning light of the setting sun and the faintest of smiles tugging on her lips. "Yeah."

I nod towards her and fill two bowls with a stew that has been on the fire for most of the day. We eat in silence, though she gives me an appreciative thank you when she finishes. Her eyes stay on the fading light that streams through the boarded windows, her knuckles white as she crunches her fingers into a fist on the tabletop. "Are you tired?" I ask quietly.

She nods a little hesitantly, like she's afraid to close her eyes, afraid she won't find morning. I lead her into my bedroom like she's a dazed child, keeping my lamp on for her when the light in the skies burns out.

I write a letter for Gaepora, telling him that we're safe thus far, that I'll send him again tomorrow. I pause with my hand on the doorknob, the letter grasped within the other as I feel a palm rest on my shoulder. "Where are you going?"

"To send your father a letter," I tell her, refusing to turn around, "tell him we're alright."

"Don't go," she begs quietly, her voice breaking, "please, Link. Don't go out there."

"I'll be fine," I whisper as reassuringly as I can muster, "go lay back down."

Her hand falls from my shoulder. "I'm afraid," she whimpers.

I turn around then, catching her gaze in mine. My heart twists painfully as I watch her with her pleading eyes. Her golden hair falls in soft curls around her face, her bangs growing out longer and pushed off of her forehead. Her nightgown isn't much more than a slip, not covering her arms or her legs past her knees because of the heat. Nervous fingers clench at the material floating down her thighs, rumpling the white fabric. "I'll just be a moment," I tell her, my voice uncharacteristically cold as I twist the doorknob.

It chills my bones when I step outside into the silence of night to call on my loftwing to deliver the message for me, waiting in simple fear until I see the familiar flutter of crimson descending towards me. I breathe a sigh of relief once he's taken to the sky once more and I can return to Zelda inside.

I know the feeling when it crawls up my neck. I've always had another sense, almost a second of premonition when something is behind me; the ability to know just a moment before death or something worse seeks me out. That's how I know to roll to my side just as a bark rips through the night, claws catching at my shoulder.

I don't turn to lay my eyes on it, adrenaline surges through my heart as I run, run though I can hear it's heavy paws against the ground just behind me, though it's so close that the rasping snarls that come from it's mouth hurt my ears. I fly through my door, quickly slamming it behind me though the beast on the other side pushes back, leaning it's full weight—nearly too much for me—against the door.

A cry of panic comes from my lips as I shove my shoulder into the solid wood, the creature on the other side yelping as it's foot crunches between the door and the door frame before it tears itself free and the door clicks shut.

It does not give up despite the barrier between us. With shaking hands I lean back against the door, releasing my body weight against it and slide to the ground, my quaking legs unable to stabilize me any longer. The repetitive force of the beast ricochets through the door and into my chest, jolting me forward as I wait, unsure if I'll be able to keep it at bay. A thousand things are swimming through my mind frantically, drowning in the possibility of failing her.

When I look up, she's standing in the doorway of my bedroom watching me, her face fallen, full of sorrow as she covers her mouth with one hand because she knows.

She walks silently towards me, kneeling over top of me with one knee on either side of my hips, straddling my legs as she winds her arms around my shoulders, her face burrowing into my neck, her whole body trembling. Her fingers keep up a constant anxious pattern, the electricity of fear not allowing them to pause; grasping at my hair, trailing down my neck, slipping beneath my collar to grip the warm skin there as the thing outside continues to bash it's weight against the door, howling in desperation. She does not cry or panic, but just holds me, touches my skin and breathes into the hollow between my neck and shoulder though her body shakes against mine.

I try to tell her I'm sorry, to tell her that it's my fault. I am ready to give up hope.

When suddenly the thumping stops. The heavy footfalls of the creature disappearing into the night, the growling dissipating into silence.

I release a shuddering sigh, looking up to the ceiling with heavy arms by my sides to thank whatever force managed to turn that beast... the Arnacht, away from us. Zelda doesn't move, but remains sitting in my lap, her fingers twisting in my hair at the nape of my neck. I try to lift my arms though it feels like my bones have been replaced by lead, and skim my fingers accidentally along her legs—bare up to her knees—before I manage to press them into the small of her back, squeezing her against me. "I'm so sorry," I manage to whisper, "I shouldn't have gone out."

She doesn't respond, just nestles her head against me as her hands trail down to my chest, allowing herself to be enveloped in my arms.

My heart starts to beat erratically at the nearness of her body, at the warmth radiating from every part of me she makes contact with. "We'll be safe until morning," she finally murmurs, "don't be afraid."

I furrow my brow, confused until I notice her palm resting over my heart, feeling the pounding beneath my ribcage just underneath her fingers, and mistaking my rushing blood at wanting her so desperately for fear. I suppose I do feel a certain fear however, the fear of her in harm, the reason I am sometimes unable to think clearly, the reason I moved to be so close to her.

We sit like this for some time, not wanting to move in case it returns I guess. Not wanting to breathe or say a word, not to yawn or shift as my feet start to tingle from sitting so still, from her weight on my legs. I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair and clothes and finding somewhere far away from here, somewhere safe to doze.

My eyes flutter open when I feel her shifting against me, sitting up straighter to look into my eyes. A knot ties in my stomach then at how close her face is to mine, at the way her fingers trail tantalizingly down my chest to the tensed muscles of my stomach, my breathing becoming shallow and causing my thoughts to spin.

I remember vaguely what her father said, what he said about maintaining boundaries.

Her eyes, half-lidded, aren't looking at mine anymore, they're gazing at my barely parted lips.

She leans in closer to me, the glitter of blue disappearing behind her eyelids, her pace slow, steady, unsure.

And I turn my face away.

A ghost of a surprised gasp manages to whisper past her lips, her body freezing in confusion. I grit my teeth together as I stare at the ground, my hands letting go of her.

I hear her swallow before she presses her lips to my cheek, something about the way she does, so bitter. She stands and follows her feet back to my room, back to a place where we can be separated by a door.

I pull my knees up to my chest, pressing my fingers to my eyes and rubbing away the guilt and regret at pulling away from her. Deep breaths pour from my lips, like I've just been holding it in for as long as I can before I finally break the surface and am able to breathe again. I wanted to hold her mouth against mine, let myself grasp her with trembling hands because I was nervous before her, not because I was scared for our lives. But I didn't.

Maybe I didn't because of what her dad told me, but maybe I didn't because I want to be the one to kiss her, not for her to kiss me. I want to kiss her at a time where we can remember how beautiful the world can be.

I wonder what would have happened if I did. If I'd let her kiss me. Would things have gone farther? Would we have done something we'd regret, or something we'd cherish? I put my chin in my hand, shaking my head as a brief fantasy flits through my mind. I see her beside me in our bed, and the moon bounces off her blue skin, bare under the night, and inside her eyes is a galaxy, and she smiles at me as I sift my fingers through her silvery-gold hair.

The knot in my stomach catches fire, burning through my insides, igniting my lungs and heart. I wince as it spreads to my left shoulder, though this pain bears more reality to it than the others. I lift my heavy hand and prod at the aching flesh, my fingers coming away with a dark stain. Through the rush of adrenaline I hadn't noticed the tear in my skin left by the Arnacht until now. I rub the sticky substance between my fingers and thumb, the sting from the salt in my skin subsiding into a dull throb. I let it burn.

I don't leave my spot in front of the door.

I don't leave so that there's one more thing between Zelda and the thing that seeks to end her life.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Alert to read more, favorite to make me smile, review to make me write faster!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Eh, short transitional chapter. I know it's not all that exciting, but I just wanted to get these boring little details out of the way before we get to THE GOOD STUFF. Which I'm excited about. I guess that's really it. Thanks for reading and reviewing, guys!**

**Oh. Just FYI. I still think Link will always be a lefty. Just because the majority of us are right-handed and so they adjusted SS accordingly to make it more comfortable, my belief is that if the game would have been made for a console such as the Gamecube, he would have been left handed. So he's left handed here. Sue me.**

* * *

_If the children don't grow up_

_Our bodies get bigger, but our hearts get torn up_

* * *

"There's blood on your arm... why is there blood on your arm?"

I glance down at my haphazard attempt to bind my left arm with my right hand—the hand I wasn't used to using. Before Zelda had woken, I'd tried to clean the scratch and changed my shirt, but already it was seeping through the bandages and staining my sleeve. "It... nicked me," I try to say nonchalantly.

"_It_ being the Arnacht," she assumes.

I nod, directing my glance back down to the eggs in the frying pan I'd been trying to cook for her.

"Nicked you," she muses to herself, "it looks like it tried to take off your whole arm."

"Common misconception about wounds. People tend to believe that if there's a lot of blood, that the wound is more serious," I shrug.

"I will continue to believe that to be the truth, because it generally is," she mutters, leaning her hip against the counter and crossing her arms.

"And what about your legs," I inquire, gesturing a spatula towards her, "because what happened to my arm is about a tenth of what happened to you."

"It stings," she says without hesitation though her voice drops to a murmur, "makes it hard to think clearly."

Something about the way she says that makes my thoughts fly back to last night, her sitting in my lap and leaning in to press her lips to mine. Before I'd fallen asleep, I'd replayed that moment a thousand times over in my head, trying to remember if she'd actually tried to kiss me or if I saw something that never happened. But no, I was certain. Her attitude this morning has thrown me some though, the way she's shrugged it off and acted like it never happened.

But maybe the only reason it had almost happened was because we were lost to a moment when our thoughts were muddled by glancing thoughts of death and our last moments living and seeing the other... or at least, mine were.

I dish her food onto a plate and slide it across the counter to her. She takes it in her hand and opens the drawer to her left, almost as familiar with my house as she is with her own, as she takes out two forks and passes one to me. We sit and eat in silence at my wooden table, everything silent save for our chewing. I glance up at her when I notice the clang of her fork against her plate has ceased, her eyes on my shoulder. "Can I wrap your shoulder for you? It looks like a bloody mess," she points out delicately.

"Sure," I say through a brief snicker at her choice of words, very unlike her.

She stands up and rolls up her sleeves though he brushes past me to the wash basin and cleans her hands first. Always the practical one, Zelda was, always looking out for my best interest. She towels them off and returns to my side, climbing up to sit on the table so that she's above me. "Alright," she says, "can you take off your shirt?" I feel my face turn warm at her request though I comply to her demands, taking the hem of my shirt between my fingertips and lifting it over my head. The movement tugs at my threshold of pain, a wince taking over my face when I can see her again. "Turn around," she murmurs, touching her hands gently to my back and twisting my torso so that my left arm can rest on the table towards her.

She rests her feet on the chair I sit on, one of her feet behind my back, the other with her toes tucked beneath one of my legs. I try not to think about how close she is, but just concentrate on her fingers, unwrapping the cloth around my arm. She mutters something under her breath as she draws the bandages away, something that sounds like disapproval. "Is it bad?" I ask.

"Worse than you said it was. You should get this stitched up," she says, her voice growing more serious.

"I'm not going to stitch it up with one hand if that's what you mean," I say, my teeth gritting together as she dabs at it with a clean cloth.

"I didn't say you should. I'm not very good at it either..." she trails off. "Maybe we should go up to Skyloft."

I look down, "If you really think I should."

"I do," is all she says, her voice quiet.

I stand up then, my shirt clenched in my hands and hold out a hand for her, "Let's go then."

Her fingers slip into mine as she hops down from off the table, her eyes falling to where my heart is. She raises her other hand and trails her fingernails along a scar there, one that still seems swollen though the skin has knitted itself back together. "How did this one happen?"

I look down at her hand on my chest, remembering too clearly the sting of a blade nearly ending my life. "Demise," I say barely above a whisper.

"This was done by a demonic blade?" she asks, her eyes wide in shock.

"Yes," I respond.

"It's colder than the rest of your skin," she says, "is that why?"

I shrug but then add a nod, I guess that makes the most sense. I remember the night we returned to Skyloft after Demise was defeated. I remember waking up in the center of the Sealed Grounds with this dull aching in my chest that seemed to grow worse and worse as time went on. It didn't bleed though my skin was torn open, but inside was black, like spilled ink had replaced the blood beneath my skin. It had felt like my heart was burning but freezing at the same time, and I was scared that it would kill me. I laid awake that night in my bed and didn't tell anyone, not even Zelda, because I thought it would be easier to just slip away into death while everyone was at peace. I didn't want to worry them with something I wasn't even sure could be cured.

"Can I ask you something?" she says then, interrupting my train of thought.

I dip my chin in a single nod. I wonder why she feels the need to ask.

"Why is your heart always beating so hard?" she asks, "It's always going so fast."

I swallow, "It's beating normal right now."

She shakes her head with a coy smile. "No it's not. This is normal," she says, taking my hand and pressing it to the top of her chest where I can feel a steady thrum. My throat suddenly grows dry, a pit in my stomach. "Do you feel the difference?"

"Yeah," I say, though the word barely makes it out of my mouth.

She drops her hand then, the connection between her warm palm and my cold scar cutting off abruptly before she steps away. "We should go, before that heart of yours makes you bleed out."

* * *

Skyloft appears out of the clouds like a beacon. Relief floods my heart, relief at the familiarity of the place that was home to me for so long. Zelda arrives before I do, waiting for me at the dock with concern. The bandages she'd put on my arm for the journey have already soaked through, and a slightly ill feeling has started to brew in my stomach, a sheen of sweat on my lip and brow. Sleeping had been one thing, with my heart beating slow in unconsciousness, but waking and moving and living has had a bit of a greater strain on the gash in my arm.

"You look terrible," she says when I climb shakily off my loftwing.

"Thanks for your... vote of confidence," I murmur as she slips her arm around my back.

She purses her lips but doesn't say anything in response, leading me off towards the Academy where one of the professors will fix me up. She leaves me there, saying that she's going to find her father as Professor Horwell stitches up my arm and I give vague answers about what happened. It's not necessarily that I'm trying to keep it a secret or that I don't trust him, but more so that I'm too exhausted to keep up normal conversation, blood loss and sleep deprivation weighing on my mind. Not to mention that I'm trying to suppress the thought that with every prick in my arm, a needle is going through my skin.

After a few moments he seems to sense my hesitation and keeps his lips sealed tight. He has me drink a salty, dark red liquid in a clear bottle. I cringe as I swallow it, nearly gagging on the unpleasant taste, though Horwell assures me it'll give me back my strength. He walks me to my room, urging me to sleep.

It all passes in such a blur, my eyes tired and fatigue drowning my senses. It takes me a moment after I've sealed myself away into my old room at the Academy to realize that my room has been stripped clean from my move to the Surface, even my blankets and pillows missing. I lay down on the bare mattress and curl in on myself, cradling my hurt arm against my chest, waiting until the weariness beats out the pain and I fall asleep.

I'm only partially conscious when I feel a soft woolen blanket slip over my bare arms, something even softer, perfectly warm and smooth touching my hair.

It feels like only a moment later when a hand is gently shaking my shoulders, saying my name is a hushed voice. I blink once, twice and squint at the figure above me before recognition fills in the blanks. "Pipit?"

"Hey, just making sure you're still alive. Everyone was really nervous," he says, his hand leaving my arm.

"How long have I been sleeping?" I ask groggily, sitting up and leaning my back against the headboard.

He stands up and sits across from me at an abandoned chair by my desk. "Maybe five, six hours."

I let out a breath from puffed up cheeks, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. "It's getting late then," I say, "what time is it?"

"Around five," he says.

So we still have a few hours before the sun goes down... I want to get back before the Arnacht has a chance to come to Skyloft. I don't want to put the children and people still living here at risk. "I should probably go soon," I murmur, trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes. It's then that I notice the blanket still at my hips, the faded blue with white trim. This blanket is Zelda's from when she was just a little girl.

"What happened to her?" Pipit asks me.

I'm caught off guard by his question, "What do you mean?"

"Zelda said she didn't get a lot of sleep last night, that she was crying for most of the night. Well... Zelda told Karane, Karane told me. I thought you might know, since you were down there with her," he says, shifting in the chair to lean his elbow on the desk though he still faces toward me.

My heart sinks. Though it's possible that her tears were for the close call we had, I fear worse. I fear that I caused the tears. "She was probably scared," I tell him though my voice is distant, as is my mind, "I'm assuming you know."

"About the beast on the Surface? Her dad has mentioned it vaguely. But he says it's more dangerous for her to come back up here, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me..." he trails off.

"Is Zelda here?" I ask him, trying to cut off the conversation.

"Last I heard she was up in her old room... Link—I think she's asleep," he calls after me as I stand up, her blanket in hand and leave through the door. I climb the stairs quickly to her room, the rushing of my blood drawing my attention back to my shoulder, the pain far subdued since I fell asleep. What Professor Horwell gave me is probably to thank, though it still throbs dully.

I knock twice but enter before she has a chance to answer, finding her sitting by her desk and sorting through a drawer. Her face lights ever so slightly as her eyes fall over my face, though the fire is quickly reined in again. "Look what I found," she says quietly, twisting her body to face me and crossing her legs as she sits on the floor. There's a piece of paper in her hands, old and crinkled.

I cross the room silently to sit by her side, finding a scrawled picture in colored pencils of three figures. In crude writing, the title 'My Family' is written across the top. One of the figures, is obviously a younger version of herself, yellow pigtails and a blue dress. The tallest of the three is her father in his red robes, his mustache and hair still a deep brown. And then on his other side is a small boy, his hair colored with the same pencil used to color hers. Her and her father have wide smiles on their faces, the boy with a barely curved line for his mouth.

I know that this is supposed to be me.

"I made this when I was four years old," she says, "back in preschool... I just found it when I was cleaning out the rest of my drawers." She trails her fingers lovingly over the lines in the paper, over her father's face and then up to the clouds above where we stand on an obscure Skyloft. There is a figure standing amidst the sky. "This is silly... but I remember our teacher telling me that I should add my mom in, because she was still a part of our family. I remember being so mad to be told what to do," she says with a smile.

"Thanks for giving me your blanket," I mumble, setting it back in her lap.

She looks up at me, and it's then that I notice that her eyes are bloodshot, tired and dry. I don't know how I looked over it this morning. "You're welcome. So... are you going to live?"

"I think the odds are in my favor," I say, hugging my knees to my chest.

"I'm glad. Horwell told me that you have some muscle damage... that it was a lot deeper than you thought, and a lot deeper than mine," she tells me.

A breath of a laugh comes through my nose, "I'm glad he decided to keep that information to himself when he was stitching me up. I probably would've passed out."

"He said you were replying in gibberish to him when he asked anything, that you were getting a little loopy," she says with a smirk.

I press my lips into a tight line, wincing at my wounded pride as she starts laughing, "As hard as it is to admit, it doesn't surprise me."

"Well, I'm just glad you're okay," she says, the laughter faded though the hint of a smile still remains on her lips.

I pick up the picture she drew of us those many years ago, surprised at how accurate the picture probably was to how she perceived me at the time. She sees people, not the way most people see one another, but almost as if she's seeing your insides, the workings of your brain and your heart. I wonder what she sees in me now, if she can see how afraid I am to hold her for reasons my mind and my heart can seem to agree on. I wonder if she still sees pieces of the broken little boy in the picture.

I return my eyes to her, finding an eyelash just below her eye and I reach up to sweep it away with the back of my finger. Her hands tense momentarily on her blanket, her lashes fluttering at the touch before I tell her, "So am I."

* * *

**Yeah, so I'm sorry for the lack of excitement. Hope you sorta kinda liked it anyways...?**


	6. Sawyer

I am uploading this message to all of my stories on this website in the hopes that it will reach a great number of you.

Tonight I found out that a boy I've known since childhood, died of drug overdose last night. Before any of you can begin to think that this is a ploy to get more readers or reviews or anything trivial like that, it's not. This is reality, and I have been sobbing for the past half-hour trying to come to terms with the fact that this is happening.

There was a point in my life where I was in love with this boy, where I could see myself marrying him. His family is very dear to me, his older brother and mine are best friends, I cheered with his younger sister, so though we grew apart and our lives changed, his family was still very dear to my heart.

In high school he started getting in with a different crowd than our group of friends from church, one that wasn't the best influence on him. It was still his own choice to do the things he did though, and those choices ultimately are what killed him. His family tried to get him into rehab, but this stubborn, rebellious boy I once idolized, wouldn't take it.

He was twenty years old. He was a great big brother. He loved his camera.

His name is Sawyer, and his sister found him after he'd been dead for twenty-four hours.

I beg you to not let drugs ruin the people we love, and ourselves. I don't care if you think nobody loves you and the only person you're hurting is yourself.

Don't give it a thought, don't hurt the people around you, don't hurt yourself.

Be safe.

Love you, Sawyer.


	7. Chapter 7

**Firstly, sorry this took longer than usual... as you can probably guess, my weekend wasn't exactly how I planned it would be.**

**Secondly, on that note, I just want to thank everyone that wrote me or left a thought in a review about Sawyer. It was such an incredible feeling to know that people I don't even know cared that much to message me and tell me I was in their prayers along with Sawyer's family. I honestly did not expect this much support and I just want to thank you guys so much. You made a really tough week just that little bit easier. After I posted the message to my stories I opened my email to find dozens of messages and reviews from you guys and it was like this overwhelming feeling of "there are some decent people out there." Needless to say, I cried reading every one of your messages.**

**Like I said, there were so many kind words and messages, I'm sorry if I didn't get a chance to respond to yours. I lost track after a while but know that it was read regardless and greatly appreciated.**

**Whew, now that that's all out of the way, I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a bit shorter than usual, but I have some good ideas for next time! Which might not come as fast as I would like... I'm going on a month long adventure if you will in the format of a roadtrip :) So, though not much writing will get done, lots of picture taking and blogging will! There's basically nothing on it now, but I'm starting a blog for my trip so if you wanna follow me there, I welcome you to! The blog is at: **

**aboutbeingatourist dot tumblr dot com**

** (just replace the word 'dot' with actual dots like these:...)**

**And also (goodness! SO much to say, such short attention spans to tend to) if you want to see the cover that I made for this story bigger and beautiful...er... go to leavenodoubt1432 dot tumblr dot com. Fun fact, the couple in the picture is the same couple from the cover for Memento!**

**So much talking! GO READ!**

* * *

_And she'll wake up in a cold sweat on the floor_

_Next to a family portrait drawn when you were four_

_And beside a jar of two cent coins that are no good no more_

_She'll lay it aside_

* * *

The Surface feels like coming home now. I always feel this way about Skyloft, but I never dreamed I would feel it about the Surface. There's something about the thick air below the clouds, the warmth beneath the trees engulfing us again. I don't even see anything sinister about it, even though I know a dark evil is hiding within the shadows of a place I love.

Night is descending quickly as I lock the door behind us, shutting us inside safely for now. Zelda stands across the room, watching me as I pull the table in front of the door, just for her peace of mind. I don't doubt that if the Arnacht was able to break past the locked door, or if it wanted to, that a table would stop it. But I know that it puts her at ease. She reaches out to me as I finish, her searching fingers finding my arm and holding on tight. "Could we do something tonight?" she asks me.

I look down into her searching eyes, "Like what?"

Her lips twitch into a smile that only lasts a moment, "We could make beds on the ground out of pillows like we did when we were small, camp out in the living room. Sleep next to each other."

I know she just wants to be close, doesn't want to be alone. "Yeah," I say with a grin, though my voice still wavers slightly, "let's do that."

Her smile is genuine now, a flicker of life in her eyes as she lets go, dragging blankets and pillows to the center of the room where the table once was. She watches me as I help her, stealing a glance every now and then. I wonder for a moment what she's looking at, or what she's hoping to see.

She sets a candle down on the floor by the end our heads will rest on, lighting it as darkness rapidly falls. She clears her throat a moment later. "I'm going to go get changed," she tells me.

I nod, making a sound in my throat of approval. I walk over to the water basin after she's left and pull off my shirt, looking in the mirror at the swollen skin held together by the stitches. I briefly soak a cloth in the water and lift it to my arm, wincing at the touch. It stings, the wound throbbing, though after some time it numbs somewhat from the cold water.

"Link?... Oh—"

I turn to find Zelda having just walked out of my room, seeing me standing without my shirt. She quickly turns away, and I can see her cheeks turning crimson even in the dim light. "I'm sorry... I thought you'd be dressed."

"It's okay," I murmur, "it was just uncomfortable... my shirt was making it itch."

"I can leave—" she begins.

"No," I cut her off, "it's fine. I'm just going to leave it off... if that's okay with you."

She hesitates. "It's okay with me," she says softly.

"Should we lie down?" I ask her as she fidgets uncomfortably across the room.

She smiles, an embarrassed laugh pushing past her lips, "Yeah." She nods and kneels down on her makeshift bed, patting the one next to her for me. I cross the short distance to her and let out a deep breath as I join her. I notice then that she has the picture in her hand, the one she drew of her family when she was just a little girl. She lays on her stomach with her ankles crossed in the air and looks at it with a lazy smile, something of a time long past flitting through her eyes.

I lay down on my back but still look up at her, hoping she'll look at me, but hoping that she won't. I want to tell her that I'm sorry I turned away, but I know that if she did look at me, that I wouldn't say any of the things I want to. I want to plead her to kiss me until I can't think, until I can't remember all the bad that's happened, until I can't hear the things that wait for us outside. But I don't.

Her eyes flicker to me then and my heart stops, heat rushing to my cheeks. She smirks, "What are you looking at?"

I let my eyes roll to the ceiling, a long breath exhaling from my nose. "Nothing," I say in a whisper.

She follows suit, rolling over so that she lays on her back and holds the picture above her face. "You know, when I drew this, I thought you were my brother. Dad had to tell me when I brought it home that you were still our family, but you had your own parents. It's weird how quickly we forget things... I mean, I remember things from when I was six years old so clearly, but that time when I was three, four, most of it's just gone."

"Maybe it's because our thoughts aren't as coherent when we're so young... still learning to talk," I say with a shrug, my eyes glancing over the boy that's supposed to be me in the picture.

She's quiet for some time after, and I notice then that she's holding the picture against her chest, her face turned to look at me. "There's a whole lifetime of mine I don't remember," she says once our eyes meet.

I narrow my eyes slightly, "I thought Impa said that you remembered your... past life."

She breathes out in a huff, facing the roof once more though I can see in her profile that her brow is furrowed. "Bits and pieces. It's like... Hylia... like I left myself important things about Demise, the mission, things that I would need to remember, for me to find. But the rest of it, her—or... my life, it's just gone."

"Maybe it's better," I say. She doesn't respond, her silence urging me to go on. "Why would you want to remember a life you can't ever have?"

She looks at me curiously, one eyebrow arched.

"What?" I ask, releasing a self-conscious attempt at a laugh.

"You don't usually say so much," she says.

I bite my lip. "Do you prefer it when I don't?"

"No," she whispers, "I like it when you talk."

I reach across the small distance between us and touch the bruise-like circles beneath her eyes, "You look tired." As if on cue, her mouth opens into a yawn, her petite lips forming a perfect 'o' and her eyelids fluttering with fatigue. Everything about it is adorable, so endearing and makes it hard for me to believe that she was ever someone else, that she was ever... _not_ Zelda.

"I am," she says after, her eyes remaining shut.

"Then go to sleep," I murmur.

"Will you keep me safe?" she asks, her words slightly slurred.

I nod, though her eyes are still closed, then add a quiet, "Yes."

"Goodnight, then," she whispers.

I swallow, wanting to say goodnight but she turns over so that she lays with her back to me, something about not being able to see her face stays my tongue. I roll over away from her too, so I won't have to look at the smooth skin on the back of her neck, the curve of her shoulder and want to bury my lips in her yellow hair.

* * *

I wake confused. It's still dark, the only light is the moon outside. The candle I'd fallen asleep to has burned out. For a moment I'm too engulfed in the remnants of unconsciousness to notice much else, but then I hear the quietest whimper.

I close my eyes again, desperate to figure out where it came from when I remember Zelda's presence beside me. I strain to see her in the dark, her curled up form slowly revealing itself to me; the outline of her hair and the white of her nightgown. I sit up, trying to shake off the sleep that is still trying to hold me and look down at her. Blinking once or twice, I notice that she's trembling slightly.

"Zelda," I say groggily, resting my hand on her arm. She rolls towards me, her face finally finding mine, and though the room bears hardly any light, I can see the wet trails on her cheeks. In an instant her arms are reaching up around my neck and she's pulling me down on top of her in a tight embrace. Our chests are pressed together so tightly that I can feel her hammering heart against mine, fluttering so quickly like the wings of a moth. Her skin that touches mine is cold, sticky sweat dampening her hair and neck. "What happened? Are you okay?" I ask as I let my arms slowly envelop her, even her clothes clinging to her clammy skin.

Soft strangled sounds climb from her throat, her breathing bated, her quick breaths skimming across my neck and making my hair stand on end. "I could hear it... I... I could hear it outside," she whimpers into my shoulder.

"Okay," I say gently, rubbing her side soothingly. "You're alright."

She swallows, burying her face further into my neck, her parted lips grazing my skin. "I'm afraid."

I close my eyes, restraining from letting out the shuddering breath in my throat. Without letting go of her, I turn over onto my back, so that she rests her head atop my bare chest as I stare at the roof, a deep growl coming from beyond the walls suddenly present in my ears. The Arnacht is just outside.

I wonder why it waits. I don't doubt that it could enter my home if it wanted, and so I'm curious as to why it doesn't, why it prefers to taunt Zelda with its presence alone. "We'll be okay," I assure her.

"I had a bad dream," she confides, her voice weak.

"What happened?" I ask, combing through her hair with my fingers.

"It hurt you... there was so much blood on you. It was in your hair, making your hair wet. And it just watched us... watched me hold you while you died. When I woke up, I could still hear it breathing like it was in my dream... just outside the window," she murmurs brokenly, "I didn't know if it was real. I was too afraid to move."

"I'm alright," I remind her though I know that the beating of my heart against her ear is enough.

My stomach tenses as she lays her palm on it, sitting up to look down at me. "I don't want you to ever be taken again."

I furrow my brow, a question in my eyes as I look up at her. "Taken?" When was I taken to begin with?

She lays back down on her own pillow, though her hand remains on my stomach, her fingers curling and uncurling slightly subconsciously. Our beds are so close together that her forehead nestles into my shoulder. "Two years is a long time..." she mutters.

Two years? Even when she was taken by Ghirahim we weren't apart for two years... not even close. "What are you talking about?" I ask her.

Her beautiful blue eyes open and find mine, her forehead crumpled almost as if she's in distress, or maybe remembering a sad memory. She kisses my shoulder then, and I hold my breath, the only sound in the room is of her supple lips against my skin. Her hand trails up my stomach and past my chest to my face, her lithe fingers caressing over my eyes and lips. "Shh," she hushes, her eyelids covering the misty depths again.

I swallow, my heart pounding. For a moment I consider the fact that she might not be completely awake, though she spoke completely coherently, not in muddled phrases like she did when she sleep-talked when she was younger. I take her hand that lingers on my neck in my own hand and put it by her side, carefully squirming out of her touch, though she seems almost placated back into sleep.

I sit and watch her, lulled back into peacefulness. I wrack my brain for a reason to what she was talking about; two years, being taken, but I come up blank. There was something off about the way she spoke, the lilt of her voice changing into something... I don't know, just _different_.

My eyes run over her body and above her head to the picture she drew laying on the floor. The woman she drew in the sky catches my attention, because she reminds me so much of the Goddess Statue, though I know it's supposed to be her mother.

My eyes fly open, something clicking.

_Why would you want to remember a life you can't ever have?_

I don't know if it's even possible, if part of her life before was showing through, but maybe she was confusing me with someone else. And maybe it wasn't her speaking exactly, but Hylia...

It scares me, the possibility of Zelda, the one I've known since I was born and grown to care about... to love, that she might have disappeared for a moment, losing herself to a different life. If she did remember, would it change her? Change the way she holds onto me and speaks to me?

Because maybe in her life as Hylia she loved someone else.

And maybe she'll realize that I'm not him.

* * *

**DRAMA! Review, alert, favorite?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys. Sorry for the super long wait. I went on this awesome trip around the southwest United States. So I really didn't have too much time to write. Alas, here it is! This is a pretty juicy chapter so I hope it was worth the wait :)**

**If you are interested in seeing any of my trip pictures, you can go to: aboutbeingatourist dot tumblr dot com**

* * *

_Well I wrote your name and burned it,_

_To see the color of the flame._

_And it burned out the whole spectrum,_

_As if you were everything._

* * *

"Link."

I stir, though my eyes don't open, still trying to sift the dreams from reality.

I hear my name again; "Link." This time it startles a reaction from me, my eyelids fluttering, trying to focus on the face above me. "Good morning, sleepy-head," she says softly.

I clear my throat, my voice still sounding hoarse when I speak, "Hey."

"I made you breakfast," she says, as if just remembering the plate in her hands. She sets it down in front of me, the fluffy eggs freckled with oregano.

They smell amazing—I've always known that Zelda could cook—but I purse my lips at them. "You didn't have to make me breakfast, you know," I tell her quietly, picking up the fork in my hand.

She shrugs, "Call it a peace offering."

A snicker escapes my lips, "For what?"

"Waking you up last night... I'm sorry for that," she apologizes.

I shake my head, narrowing my eyes as I take a bite of the food she'd made for me. As much as I think her reasoning is silly, I'm not about to reject her offer. The eggs melt in my mouth, clearing away the dryness in my throat. "It doesn't matter," I say.

"Well, I feel bad about it anyway," she says, waving off my statement.

"You had a nightmare. You don't need to feel bad," I remind her.

She lays on her back, her hands folded across her stomach as she lets out a long breath, staring at the ceiling. "It was a long night."

I nod once in agreement, chewing thoughtfully on whether or not I should bring up the latter part of our conversation the previous night. Eventually my curiosity wins out, though it takes me a moment to find words that won't embarrass her or myself. "Do you remember... last night, we were talking and you told me you didn't want me to be taken again? For two years you said," I mumble the last bit, hiding behind another bite.

She turns her head to look up at me, her brow furrowed. "What?" she asks, a smile quirking at her lips.

"You don't remember?" I ask with a glimmer of relief that is quickly doused by the reality that maybe if she had remembered, she'd have a reasonable explanation for me.

"No, I must have been half-asleep," she says.

I swallow away the food in my mouth, nodding once. "I assumed so." The light clamor of the dish against the ground draws her eyes back to mine, "So, did you have any plans for today?"

"I was expecting you to sleep all day," she says with a coy grin.

"What else is new?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

She pauses for a moment, stretching her arms above her head and then bending her elbows to rest the backs of her hands against her lips. She lowers them just below her chin so she can speak, her voice gentle. "Nothing."

I watch her in silence, finally evading her gaze when I can feel heat growing in my cheeks.

"My dad said he was going to come down later this afternoon," she tells me after our eyes depart from one another.

"And before then?" I ask.

She sits up, brushing all of her hair over one shoulder with her fingers. Her shoulders slump forward as she blows a raspberry through her lips. "Laundry," she replies with a grimace.

A laugh escapes me, "Laundry? That can't wait any longer?"

"I have no clean clothes here," she says, raising her hands and letting them drop by her sides pathetically, "either I do it all today or I have to go back to my house and pick some more up."

"Do you want to procrastinate?" I ask.

The blue in her eyes lights up, she nods in reply.

"I want to show you something," I say, standing up and holding out my hand to her. There's the forest I found before the Arnacht, the one that I wanted to show her before it seemed to disappear in the order of importance. She slips her hand into mine and stands up, straightening out her nightgown and smiling—really smiling. "Come on," I murmur as we escape through the door, back outside where the morning is growing into afternoon, and the light is becoming richer.

She doesn't ask where we're going, just trusts in her footsteps that sink into mine as I seek out the tree I marked that day that seems hundreds of years ago, another lifetime altogether. The day is cooler than that one was, but the brisk air feels welcome. I'm tired of summer heat.

When our tread slows, she squeezes my hand once, her footsteps pausing. "Link," she whispers as if she's afraid to disrupt the quiet.

I turn back to her, our hands parting as I take one step too far. She's staring at me quizzically, her lips quirking in and out of a grin. That's when I hear it too, what's causing the splay of emotion on her face; the laughter of the forest spirits drawing near. I nod over my shoulder, indicating for her to follow, but instead she closes the distance between us and takes my bicep and forearm in her hands, keeping close. She's always finding something to hold onto.

She ducks her head as I lift a branch high enough for us to sneak under, the light of the glade just beyond cloaking everything in a white cape. But as it dissipates, and everything clears, the same forest is before me. It is just how I remember it. Zelda's small intake of breath is enough to assure me that she is as in awe as I was. Her grip on my arm doesn't relax, and I risk a glance down at her to find wonder-struck eyes following the tumbling flight of the souls.

"Come on," I say gently as her hand resting on my forearm skims down my skin and into my palm. We meander forward as a cluster of playing souls bound on the grass by her feet, causing the hem of her dress to flutter. She lets out a delighted laugh as she skips out of their way, being careful not to trip over me as she glances towards me with an elated smile.

"What is this?" she asks.

I shrug, "I don't know, really... a safe place, I guess."

"A haven," she agrees, her eyes glittering as one of their shimmering forms dances in front of her face.

"Yeah," I say, my heart clenching involuntarily at the fleeting glance she allows me.

She curls into my side as another soul flits past her elbow, and claims both of my hands with hers as she gently tugs me towards the center of the meadow. It's there that she bends her knees, finding the ground and taking me with her until we're both sitting on the soft grass. "It's so pretty," she says, mesmerized by the things above us.

I watch as she eases herself onto her back to look up at the sky, her chest rising and falling slowly. The urge to rest my head on her stomach is almost overwhelming, and I bite my cheek until I taste blood to try to take my mind away from the tempting thought of her fingers in my hair while my head rises and falls with her breath. Instead I just lay down beside her, watching as she lets her eyelids flutter closed and the sun warm her face.

"They must be waiting... waiting for a guardian," she murmurs.

I nod though her closed eyes won't see. "Yeah," I agree vocally.

"Maybe we could find one for them, when this is over... I think maybe I could stay here... with you," she mumbles.

"Yeah," I whisper again, though this time there's confusion in my voice. I realize with dread that it's there again, that bizarre tone in her voice, the way her words don't seem to make complete sense.

I wait, watching her and holding my breath. But not another word passes her lips, though they remain slightly parted as she breathes softly, her profile soft and peaceful and angelic. I let my eyes fall close too, trying to divert my thoughts of her to a place where I can manage them, though the thought of falling asleep here is completely infectious. I only stir a few moments later when I feel something touching me, a hand finding my chest. I open my eyes to find Zelda propped up on her elbow, gazing down at me with her hair tickling my neck. I find that I can't move, that her hazy eyes are paralyzing me, so when she hitches her leg over my waist and straddles my hips, it's all I can do to just lay there in silence, heart pounding, palms sweating. The blue of her eyes rolls back as she closes them, and her lips descend towards my face.

They caress over my eyelids and cheekbones, my temples and my jawline. They're softer than I would have ever imagined. And then finally, they find my lips, gentle at first, but so completely heart-stopping. For some reason I'm reminded of the dollop of whipped cream on the cake during festival, and how it's silky texture would dissolve in my mouth. Her lips are just the same, unbelievably smooth, undeniably addictive. I manage to rest my trembling hands on her thighs as she kneads my lips with hers, opening them to her mouth to deepen the kiss. I can taste her shuddering breath on my tongue as suddenly hers slips between my lips. My eyes fly open at the feeling of her tongue inside my mouth, at her forwardness that seems so unlike her. Though I don't necessarily care.

She presses her hips down harder into mine, grinding them into me as she grasps desperately at my face and hair. Again I want to move—to push her off or flip her over I'm unsure—but I can't seem to find my hands, my feet. Everything seems numb except for that hot pit in my stomach churning beneath her. Everything about her body is growing more insistent, and I try to stifle a a groan when she bites my lip and I taste blood, though I can't tell if it's from her or when I bit my cheek earlier. She's humming sighs of content into my mouth, her hair showering us both in a curtain of warm light. "Link," she whispers against my lips, her voice making my limbs ache with the way she says my name. She wraps her fingers around my wrists, trying to get my hands to move upward though they're frozen as they are.

She's hesitates then and pulls back slightly though I'm desperate for her mouth against mine once more. I open my eyes and look up at her pleadingly, but my hands are still unable to move. She seems upset by my inability to respond to her, to lift my hands at all, and tears grow in her eyes. I want to tell her not to cry, that I don't want her to stop, but even my voice seems missing.

And then her tear falls and lands just below my eye. I blink reflexively, opening them again to find her face that was above me, gone. The weight of her body, disappeared.

I blink again in confusion, turning to my side to find Zelda laying where she was before with her eyes closed like she is lost to sleep.

As I swipe my finger below my eye at the drop of moisture, another one joins it and I glance up at the sky to find dark clouds above us, rain starting to spill.

The only thing that was real of it all is the hot feeling throughout my body, the pit in my stomach, the heat in my face. I realize with a hint of disgust at myself that I'd made up the rest in unconsciousness.

Her lashes flutter then as a scatter of rain touches her face and she glances over at me. She laughs with embarrassment, "I can't believe I fell asleep."

I shake my head, trying to hush the image of desire in her eyes I'd invented. It's so different than the innocence and light in her face now. From what I know of her, I don't even know how my imagination conjured it at all. "I did too."

"We better go," she says, the grey sky reflected in her eyes, "or we're going to get rained on."

"Right," I mutter, trying to pull myself on my feet and turn away from her as quick as possible.

I begin towards the treeline, not waiting for her though I hear her run to catch up with me, her hand catching at my elbow as the light patter of rain becomes heavier, the clouds opening and flooding the surface. I don't look at her though I can see her watching me, waiting patiently for an excuse for my behavior. At the moment I'm just trying to get a grip.

"You're breathing hard," she says like an accusation.

I swallow, my heart still hammering from the dream. It's becoming evermore difficult to try and push those images of her out of my head, especially when she's right beside me, touching my arm, her skin against mine. "I'm okay," I tell her, attempting to give her a halfhearted smile.

She takes my hand in hers and begins to run, letting out a laugh as we're pelted with water gathered in the foliage above our heads, my hair and clothes are already damp, and I know by the time I reach home that I'll be drenched. Though for now it seems of little concern.

I push it all aside and let her lead me as we run through the wood, a smile tugging at my lips as she cries out in disbelief or delight, it's hard to tell. Her hair is already wet, making long golden ropes as she spins to catch a glance at me. I smile back, because it's impossible not to.

We find ourselves fumbling over our feet, pulling each other through the blinding rain, wildly laughing for no apparent reason. Most of the major storms like this one would always happen below Skyloft, so the whole thing seems foreign but exciting. I remember sitting on the edge of a dock in Skyloft watching the lightning flash in the clouds below us, listening to the rumble of thunder. It's far louder down here.

My house is the first one that appears from beyond the forest, and I tug Zelda towards the front door searching for the closest shelter. We duck under the doorway and shut ourselves away from the rain, the cold, shivering and laughing as we inspect each other and our clinging clothes and dripping hair.

"I guess Dad won't be coming down until the rain lets up," she murmurs as she peers between the cracks in my boarded up windows at the grey sky.

I wander up behind her, resting my hands on her shoulders until she turns back around. She leans into me, resting her forehead against my chest with her hands clasped in front of her while she trembles. I curl my fingers around her upper arms, gently rubbing them up and down to try and create some friction. "Let's get some dry clothes," I tell her quietly, ducking my head down to speak in her ear.

Her eyes fly open as she steps back, her blue lips popping open as she gasps though there's a softness in her mouth, still a smile in her eyes that tells me it's not serious. "Oh no," she says, "I don't have any clean clothes here..."

I smirk. "Well," I say taking her hand and leading her into my room, "I probably have something you can wear in the meantime until the rain dies down and you can go home."

"Are you sure?" she asks as I start fishing through drawers for something small enough.

"Yeah, absolutely," I say, lifting a cream tunic up to her petite frame, "here." I put the shirt in her arms and return to the drawers to find pants for her to wear. Luckily, I find a pair from before the Surface that are too small for me now, and hand them over to her.

"Thank you," she says, setting them down on my bed. I turn to tell her that it's no problem but the words catch in my throat as I watch her fingers start to unlace the front of her dress.

"Oh!" I blurt out, turning away as quickly as I can manage, though I can't help peeking hesitantly at her so try and read her expression, "D-do you want me to go?"

Her cheeks burn red, eyes wide, almost as if she hadn't realized what she was doing before it was done. "Um, y-yes. I mean, if you could, or if you wanted—yes," she sputters with a chagrined smile.

I nod towards the wall, not wanting her to think that I want to look, though I have to tell myself that this isn't the case... even when every other piece of me wants to. Picking up the clothes that I'd picked for myself, I push towards the door, sealing myself on the other side and waiting.

And trying to slow my racing thoughts.

* * *

**poor Link. Only dreaming... Lots of reviews make me writes lots faster.**

**And lets us get to the real thing a lot quicker ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys, sorry I've been so lame lately for updating. Thanks for being patient. That is all.**

* * *

_Their tears are filling up their glasses_

_No expression, no expression_

_Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow_

_No tomorrow, no tomorrow_

* * *

Waking to silence took some time to adjust to. I was used to being woken by the thundering footsteps of running kids down the hallways of the academy, hurrying to breakfast, hurrying to class, hurrying to whichever activity I was late for. The house is completely still as I come to in the morning, not even the birds making noise, though the sun filters through the trees and through my windows.

We had slept well the night before, the Arnacht not keeping us up as it has before.

I don't allow myself to hope that it's given up, I know that it is not in its nature.

Besides that, I realize another missing presence, and I wonder if she's gone home to get new clothes, or to wash her own. Immediately my heart starts beating a little faster than it did before, but it is soon hushed by a creaking in the floorboards in my room. I pull my still-waking body onto my feet, battling the head rush before I pace slowly to the doorway and peek inside. She stands at my dresser, changed back into her dress from the day before that has dried by now. I'm sure she notices that I'm there, but I wait, watching her as I rest against the door frame.

There is something in her hands that she's turning over and over, a puzzled look knitting her brows together. "What is this?" she asks quietly a moment later, holding it up to show me the green piece of glass that had been sitting beside my books and other things.

"Glass," I tell her, folding my arms loosely across my stomach.

"I know that," she says, "but why is it sitting here?"

"I found it... that night a while back when I was sleep walking. When I woke up... somewhere between your house and mine, it was in my hand," I explain.

She runs her fingers over the grooves again, her face still carrying that puzzled expression.

"It's sharp," I murmur, "be careful not to cut yourself."

A gasp escapes her lips then and she drops the piece of glass, taking a staggered step back. For a moment I think she has severed her finger, but then I notice something in her eyes, that look when she kissed my shoulder that night, spoke strange words. I step away from the door.

"Zelda?"

She keeps stepping backwards, her footsteps unsure, her eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. My heart begins hammering as she bumps into my bed before sitting on it, inching backwards until she leans against the wall with her knees pulled up to her chest.

"Zelda what's wrong?" I ask, crossing the floor towards her and carefully kneeling on the bed though I'm cautious to touch her in fear of upsetting her further.

She looks up towards me, tears in her eyes. Her fingers tremble as she reaches a hand out to me, hooking them in my collar as her frantic eyes lower to my throat. "Please hold me," she says, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper.

I swallow, my adam's apple bobbing just above her fingers as I ease myself closer to her, sitting adjacent to her as she folds herself into my arms, her face nestled into the curve of my shoulder. "Are you okay?" I manage to ask with a dry throat.

"Just don't let go," she murmurs, her voice still quiet.

"I won't," I assure her, my eyes flashing over my walls as I try to understand something she won't explain.

"It wasn't your fault..." she mumbles almost incoherently so I'm unsure if they're the exact words she says. "I'm so sorry. It wasn't your fault..."

A sick feeling of dread burns like a sharp needle in my heart, her voice changing.

"Stop," I whisper then, my fear over the situation becoming overwhelming, my voice quivering. "Please stop." I squeeze my eyes closed.

Three times I breathe in and out, slowly, waiting. But no words come from her mouth.

Cautiously, I open my eyes, managing to back away from her slightly and hold her shoulders in my hands. I hope to see Zelda in my arms again, I hope to see the girl that blushed in front of me last night.

Her eyes are open, but completely vacant, staring off into an unseen place. They don't move, or wander, just stare, glassy, distant.

My grip tightens on her shoulders as my breath catches in my throat, fingernails digging into her skin. "Zelda," I say, my voice hoarse, "Zelda." I shake her once, her head bobbling on her neck though her eyes never move. I begin to panic, shaking her more fiercely, teeth gritted together when I desperately try to bring her back, "Zelda—Goddesses! What's wrong with you?"

She lifts one hand, and for a moment I think she might be coming back to me. Her fingers brush daintily over my lips, before dropping limply by her side, those blue eyes that I love, still gone.

Her body bows back, so I gently lower her onto the bed, eyes open but everything else about her seemingly unconscious. I press my ear to her chest and hear her heart thrumming away, so she's still living, but it's as if her body is empty. I stagger away from her, running my fingers through my hair as my breath races in and out. The dresser rattles as I stumble into it, the green piece of glass sitting where she'd left it. Suddenly it's in my hand, then flying across the room into my wall, a cry of fear ripping through my throat.

I grasp at the edge of the dresser to try and slow myself down, calm my breathing, finding her still form laying on the bed, her cloudy eyes on the ceiling. Her gold hair is sprawled across the pillow, one hand resting across her stomach, the other laying with an open palm by her side as it dangles off the edge of the bed.

There's a bead of blood on her fingertip, and it falls to the floor, though it doesn't make a single sound.

* * *

_Master Gaepora, _

_Zelda is alive, but there's something wrong. Please come quickly._

_Master Gaepora,_

_I don't know what to do, Zelda won't respond to_

_Master Gaepora,_

_I need your help as soon as possible, Zelda seems to be in a conscious coma._

I groan, holding my face in my hands as my stomach turns uncomfortably, trying to find the right words to explain the situation at hand. Maybe just help, maybe that's all I should say and explain the rest later. She _does_ need help, and so do I. Everything about it scares me, scares me more than I care to admit. Throughout my journey, past the monsters, the darkness, the demons, the only thing that truly scared me to my core, was the thought of Zelda not making it.

She is the embodiment of all my fears.

I feel alone, despite her being in the next room. I feel alone until I feel something touch my shoulder.

I suck in a sharp breath, whirling around to find her gazing down at me with a dazed expression.

"Zelda?" I manage breathlessly.

"What's the matter?" she asks, her brow furrowed.

Her eyes, they're blue like the evening sky again.

The chair beneath me topples over as I stand up, her body crushed against mine in the next instant as I wrap my arms tightly around her shoulders. I hear her breath catch, confusion settling in as she hesitantly winds her arms around my waist. "Link, you're scaring me," she mumbles into my shirt.

There, my name. I can't help but love the way it sounds now.

"Will you tell me what's going on?" she asks, backing away though only enough so that she can look up at me, "why was I in your bed? Did you put me in there?"

My hands find her face, forcing her to look up at me with gentle fingers, "You don't remember... anything before that?"

A crease forms between her brows, her eyes dropping to my lips. "I think I remember touching your face, and then... did I fall asleep? I don't... I don't know," she murmurs, shaking her head.

"No, it was like you were awake, but you wouldn't talk, wouldn't do anything. I was really worried," I admit, my cheeks warm.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what happened," she says.

"You don't need to apologize," I tell her gently.

Her eyes fall again, a look of pure confusion on her face as she leans her cheek back into my chest. She lets out a heavy sigh, her chest expanding against mine. "I don't know what's happening," she whispers, "ever since the Arnacht... things have been..."

"Different," I finish for her.

She nods against me. "I woke up this morning... and I went into your room to get my clothes," she recalls slowly. A disgruntled sigh escapes her lips as she shakes her head, unable to remember anything further.

My hands find her shoulders and I gently push her away from me, a pit forming in my stomach as her troubled eyes find mine. "There was something you saw... something that made you the way you were," I remind her carefully, not wanting to initiate anything like what happened this morning.

A crease forms between her eyebrows, her pink lips parting slightly as her eyes disappear into her own mind, thinking, remembering, searching. I swallow away the urge to press my lips to hers. Anxiety brews in my chest, afraid for a moment that everything is happening all over again. But then she glances back up towards me, her brow furrowed. "The... the piece of glass?"

I dip my chin in a nod.

"Hmm," she murmurs, turning her face away again. Every contour of her profile is fixed in concentration, her lips pursed, nose wrinkled, brows knitted together—it's a profile I've become well acquainted with, one I loved. Before she fell, I would see her make the same face when I told her I wasn't hearing the calling voices she did, when she was hearing Hylia though I thought nothing of it. I'm reminded of what she said once; about being content to spend the rest of her days with me in Skyloft, but knowing she wouldn't be able to. I feel the same now, I wish we could go back to those times of simplicity where I didn't mind the strange things that surrounded her. "I don't know why it happened," she continues, the meaning of the glass still lost.

She steps out of my arms completely then. "I should go," she says, "my dad will probably be coming down here today, I need to get ready."

"Do you want me to walk you home?" I ask desperately.

"No, no..." she mumbles, heading towards the door, "I'll be alright. I just need to go home and take a nap maybe." She continues out the door as though in a daze, but turns back to me once and it is apparent that she's trying to swallow the uneasy feeling around us.

"I'll come check up on you later, okay?" I say, leaning against the door frame.

She nods and turns towards the road, disappearing as I close the door.

I trace my steps back into my room, the look on her face burned onto the back of my eyelids. There are times like these when I try to imagine what life could be for us ten years from now, and I try to imagine that it'll be far away from these things of dread we have to suffer through. Sometimes I dream about Zelda, two or three children clamoring for her attention, though when I have those dreams, we're still living in Skyloft, and nothing down here ever happened.

That piece of glass is still lying on the ground where it fell after I threw it, glimmering only slightly in the dim room. As I near it however, I narrow my eyes as though I see something flicker on it's surface—a flicker of light almost. But no, it's not bouncing off the surface, it's... is it coming from within it? I bend over, leaning closer and closer to it, something luminescent either inside or below it though I can't make out what the source could be.

I reach gingerly towards it, and hesitantly try to pick it up.

But I immediately drop it, my fingers almost feeling singed as I reel back in shock with my eyes wide, gasping as fire bolts through my veins, an image that lasts less than a second blotting out the room, and the piece of glass I was looking at just before.

Blinking it away as it fades to black and then back to my room, I sink to the floor, a dizzy feeling swirling from my head to my stomach. When I find the piece of glass again, sitting just where it was, the light that was inside of it almost looks like it's been snuffed. I pick it up though this time nothing happens, and analyze it carefully, finding a dainty black stain within the shard.

Rising to my feet again, I set the glass back down on my dresser, then sit on my bed. What I saw when I tried to touch it only lasted for a moment. But it was so clear, as though I was looking in on someone's memory, looking at a picture from that moment. It wasn't familiar, no, it didn't belong to me. And I wonder if that light inside of it was a piece of magic, a piece of a memory.

Maybe something Zelda remembered, burned inside the glass.

There was a man and a woman lying in a bed within a cottage and I saw everything through his eyes. Her face was so similar to one I know all too well. She looked much like Zelda, though there was something off about her.

Her eyes weren't Zelda's.

Then perhaps... perhaps it was Hylia.

Sheets lay by her hips as she basked in early morning sunlight, arms above her head and golden hair flowing in waves over her creamy white wrists and forearms. She only wore her undergarments, leaving much of her skin exposed, milky flesh and a long crevice that ran down her flat stomach and to her naval. She was staring back at him with those eyes that are so foreign, half-lidded, not lust swimming in them, but love, peace, contentment.

The whole thing stirs an uncomfortable feeling in my heart as I lay back on my bed, that I had seen something so intimate, so private.

The woman had to have been Hylia, the resemblance between her and Zelda can't be ignored. What confounds me more is that there was a man from so long ago that she had loved, even though from what I could guess, he was mortal. I had never thought of someone so important, a Goddess no less, to find herself in the arms of a mortal man.

I wonder if Zelda saw what I did, if that's what caused her to panic, to fade. Though I don't understand what this piece of glass has to do with anything.

I swallow back the lump in my throat, seeing the eyes of that girl I don't know again. I wonder if she knew in that moment that everything was about to fall apart.

* * *

**Ahem. This might be confusing. I wrote it late at night. message me if you're confused. The best I can explain what happened to Link (this is how I explained it to Zelda-Fanatic121) is it was like when Gandalf goes to pick up the ring in Bilbo's house in the Fellowship and he sees the flash of the eye of Sauron... if you haven't seen LoTR... I got nothing for you.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I know, I know. FINALLY. I really do apologize guys. I don't know why this took so long, especially since it's not very long. I will say that I almost completed this chapter, but then didn't like how it happened, found it too rushed, and basically went back to the drawing board and started over. But yes, no excuses really.**

**Except Tumblr... addictive Tumblr...**

**If any of you guys have Tumblr and want to follow my personal account, I'm all for it. Mine is basically just movie and book stuff, but whatever floats your boat. It's abbsofreakinlutely dot tumblr dot com**

**Ahem. Again, I'm truly sorry about this taking so long.**

* * *

_Cast me gently_

_Into morning_

_For the night has been unkind_

* * *

I'll have to head inside soon, the sun is falling fast in the west. Zelda is at her home, her father had come down for the day so she is either with him or will be here soon. I try to distract myself when she's not near me, right now I'm tending to the garden behind my home that has seen better days. The carrots have wilted, tomato plants drooping, if it were Zelda here this place would be full of life.

A bead of sweat gathers on my temple as I lean over the sun-baked earth, hands and knees pressed into the dirt as I wrench a weed from the garden; its roots have grown deep.

Birds crow in the distance, the owls finding their voices along with the crickets and frogs. Even the wind has slowed, the rustling of branches and leaves dying out. Besides the night creatures which seem very far away, it's almost silent. Which is why I jump when I feel a palm on my back.

"Link."

I turn my head to find her, eclipsed by the fading sunlight though her silhouette is so familiar I won't ever forget it. "Hey," I murmur, shielding my eyes from the rich light.

"Will you come inside with me?" she asks quietly.

I stand up, battling the dizzy rush inside my head as I wipe the sweat from my face. "Of course."

She grins, something tender in her eyes. "There's dirt on your face... right here," she says as she reaches on tip-toe to swipe the side of her hand just below my left eye.

I smile back, "I'll have to wash up before dinner."

Her eyes fall though only slightly as she turns to head back inside. Her feet are bare, the sleeve of her dress slipping past her shoulder as she clasps at her elbows, goosebumps on her arms. She heads straight to the wash basin, pouring water from the pitcher into the wide bowl and taking a cloth from the shelf beside it in her hands. "You don't do a very thorough job all the time," she mutters as she swirls the water around with the cloth, "I could help you if you want."

I bite my cheek, watching as she stares down into the mini whirlpool she's made awaiting an answer. "You make me feel like a child sometimes."

It wasn't the first response I'd planned in my mind, nor was it the second, so I wonder why it came out. My voice wasn't harsh or annoyed, just plain and quiet, and so I hope she doesn't find offense in it. I don't even attempt to backpedal or evade what I've just said. If anything, it's the truth.

The water stops spinning, but her eyes don't find mine, they don't move. "I know. I don't know why," she murmurs.

She lets go of the cloth and braces her damp hands against the edge of the table, training her eyes down even as the sound of my boots against the floor interrupt the silence between us, the solid floor echoing as I make my way towards her. I dip my fingers into the lukewarm water and draw the cloth that had sunk to the bottom out, holding it in my open palm as I watch and wait. "Please," I ask.

Finally she moves, checking me for approval before she covers my hand with hers, taking the cloth, and wringing out the excess water before she reaches up to touch the corner between my nose and right eye. I close them both, trusting the shifting light behind my eyelids to tell me where her hand is as it swipes over them, over my lashes and brows and cheekbones. I hear the splashing of water again before she brings the fresh cloth back to my temples, wiping the grime from my hairline then down to my jaw. And then I feel it ghost over my chin, just barely below my lip as I open my eyes. The blue in hers sparkles in the fading light, but her pupils are fixed on my lips.

All of my composure I've been trying to maintain falters, in that instant where her lips part ever so slightly as she dabs gently at the corner of my mouth, I can't take the pounding of my heart any longer. I seize her wrist gently in my hand and move it, with the cloth, away from my face. She glances up towards me then, finally, and I can see the fear inside of her. "Link," she says breathlessly.

I incline my face towards her, prodding her nose gently with mine, and all the while she's watching me, and her body is trembling—I can feel it as I hold onto her wrist still.

When I expect to feel her lips close against mine, I feel her fingers instead, pressed between us and halting any progress. I wonder for just a moment if this is for what I did to her, turning my face when she tried to get close to me. But then I notice she's looking sideways at something past the windows. "Link," she whispers, "did you lock the doors?"

I release her arm from my grasp, hearing what had paused her; the crunching of gravel and dirt beneath heavy footsteps.

"Stay here," I whisper in response, walking as silently as I can manage to fasten the locks. I can hear it breathing on the other side of the door, the Arnacht. And then, as if sensing my presence, it snaps as the lock clicks, claws stripping the paint on the outside of the door as it attempts to break in. I stumble back, startled at the sound, staggering until arms wind around my waist from behind me. I pause, tugging gently on one of her arms, I pull her around to face me as we collide with the wall she had been pinned against. She rests her ear against my chest as I begin to sink to the floor, Zelda falling to her knees between my legs and all the while still holding onto me.

Like last time, she doesn't speak in her fear. I lean my head back against the wall and watch the shadow as it passes by the window, still growling.

"Hey," I whisper, bringing a hand up to touch the back of her head, "are you alright?"

"Yes," she answers.

That's enough for me. I continue to muss her hair, if only to keep me sane, to give me something to keep my mind elsewhere. "Zelda?"

"Hmm," she hums against my shirt.

I swallow. "I'm sorry."

I feel her fingers against my lips then. "Don't," she murmurs, trying to hush me.

Swallowing my words, I hold still as the beast outside continues its assault on the door, the windows, the walls. It doesn't let up like it has other nights. We drift in and out of sleep, always being awoken though minutes or hours—it's impossible to know—later when it howls like a suffering creature. I feel exhaustion seep through me as the night grows on, and I know it must be late, the early hours of the morning coming around. Zelda manages to sleep for a few hours finally when it resigns to padding back and forth by the window.

She jolts against me though as there's another abrupt _thump_ against the door. My hand falls to her back, rubbing it as soothingly as I can, "I won't let it in," I whisper into her ear with beyond tired eyes, aching as I try to keep them open, though my own fear parches my throat.

"It doesn't want her," she says quietly. I wasn't expecting her to speak, usually she tries to fall back into her slumber as soon as she wakes.

"Who?" I ask, as it throws its body weight into the door again, the floor beneath us trembling slightly.

She pushes gently back from me, a calm look on her face when she tells me, "Wait here."

I watch on in confusion as she stands up, shifting from one foot to the other for a moment, as if testing her courage, before taking a measured step forward, and then another. Soon she's halfway across the room, and the Arnacht outside is snarling, yelping desperately as if it senses her coming so close. I press my back against the wall, and use it to help me stand up, if only to be one step closer to running to her side should anything happen. My heart is pounding, sending a sick feeling up into my throat as she takes another step.

What is she doing? "Zelda, what is it?" I ask, my voice wavering.

"It doesn't want you either," she murmurs. By now she's standing within reach of the door, and her palm is moving tentatively towards the knob, fingers trembling.

"What are you doing?!" I demand, falling into step towards her now, panic pulsing through me.

I lunge into her, shoving her body away from the door, but not before she's twisted the knob, the lock clicking, and the door collides with the both of us with enough force to knock us from our feet.

It's then that I see it fully for the first time. When it had attacked me before, I'd seen its silhouette in the dark, a pair of menacing eyes, but nothing more than the shape of a great wolf. Now I see that it is not of our world.

Its body isn't of flesh and muscle and bone, it looks as though its limbs are weaving vines, roots, its fur more like thick grass and leaves. It is far bigger than any wolf, but that is what it resembles, a long snout with sharp, glistening teeth, pointed ears flattened back. The claws on all four of its legs are like daggers, clattering against the hard wood floor of my home. It glances at me once, and I have never felt such terror, not for what it could do to me, but what it could do to her.

They're deep red, almost as if they're bleeding, and in the center, its pupil like a black pit, piercing into me.

All of it only lasts a moment. It glances once towards me, and then to her. I call out, scrambling to hands and knees and attempt to stop it by grasping onto its tail. My hand pulls away of its own accord in shock, bleeding profusely as though the fur I tried to grab was barbed. She screams, my name maybe, though it's hard to remember. Then like a hammer, it kicks one of its hind legs into my temple. And everything is black.

* * *

I wake in a daze. The side of my head is throbbing, as is my forearm and up into my bicep—my hand is completely numb. The door is open, the wind making it swing on its hinges and bang against the wall, which had startled me into waking. I roll to my side, aching, the room swirling to find it in disorder. The chairs are knocked over, the table shoved into the stove, books have fallen from their shelves, papers fluttering against the floor, and my blood is smeared across the wood.

Something happened here, some sort of struggle.

I gasp, realizing the missing piece.

Zelda.

My body isn't working how I want it to, it takes me a few moments to pull myself onto my feet, and even then my head swims and I have to brace myself against the wall with my good arm. I cradle my hand against my chest, the skin cold though I can feel my pulse hammering through my veins at the crook of my elbow. Where is she? _What have I done?_

I stumble out the door, my hair wet when I brush it from my eyes and try to study my surroundings through the blinding sunlight. The grass is trampled to my right, even pulls out of the ground in clumps in some areas. My mind runs relentlessly, imagining what could have happened here. Was she grasping at the ground as it dragged her away?

I begin to follow what trail I can make out, my head pounding, sweat gathering on my face and chest. My breathing is heavy even though I'm not moving fast, but I feel tired. I know I've lost a lot of blood.

And soon I see hers, added to the torn plants and upturned dirt. Her blood stains the green.

Hopelessness starts to suffocate me, but I attempt to swallow it back. I count my paces, my breath hoarse, barely passing a whisper as I try to keep my mind somewhere else. I can barely hear myself though as my ears ring, the rushing of blood inside them drowning me out.

I don't know how long I've been walking, it seems like a lifetime. It seems like I'll never find her, when I see something laying in the grass.

My breath catches in my throat as I limp towards her, an aching cry that I think is her name, coming from my lips. Collapsing by her side, I clasp a hand over my mouth as I take in her condition. She's still, blood trailing from the corner of her mouth and from her nose down the side of her face into her hair. There are deep gashes in her legs like the last time, in her left shoulder too. I nearly gag at the teeth marks in the side of her neck, that look almost deep enough to have crushed her spinal cord.

"Zelda," I say, pleading with her. "Zelda..."

I touch her face, watch her placid, closed eyes. Hoping with everything inside me that they'll open.

In desperation, I rest my face against her chest, trying to listen for a heartbeat while fighting the fatigue that is threatening to overtake me, the despair. And then I hear it. So, incredibly slow. _Thump... thump... thump..._

And then, like a child fighting nightmares as they sleep, a small sound escapes her lips. A cry for help though she's too lost, too hurt, to make much noise. I sit up and watch as her eyelashes flutter, her mouth turning down at the sides as it turns around the taste of blood. "Zelda," I say again, this time with renewed vigor, the aching in my body seeming less prominent now.

Then her eyes find me, and they ask about the pain, and where we are, though I can't answer. Silent tears fill her eyes immediately and spill over, a dry cough forcing more blood past her lips. She cries out then, she says my name with such intense hurt in her voice that it makes my stomach clench. I lift her hand to my lips, kissing it over and over again as burning tears skew my vision of her. "I'm so sorry," she manages to murmur over her sobs.

I lean over her, holding her close, though gently in fear of making her injuries, particularly the one in her neck worse, and feel her short, stuttered breaths against my ear. "It's okay," I tell her, "I'm going to take care of you."

* * *

**You know the drill. Also, I finished writing this at 2 in the morning... so if things aren't right, sue me.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Guys, I'm so sorry. I've just been so lame lately. And this chapter is so lame which is part of the reason why it took me so long to write because I just couldn't make it more exciting. It was one of those transition chapters, you know? Lots of crazy stuff happened in the chapter before, and more crazy stuff will happen in the chapter after, but this one was just BLEH. Hence the reason why I took so long to write it. Zero motivation. But that aside, here.**

* * *

_The yearning to be near you_

_I do what I have to do_

_And I had the sense to recognize_

_That I don't know how to let you go_

* * *

She's sleeping, thankfully. Bandaged, bleeding, but breathing. The adrenaline is dying out finally, making my body sag into the chair as I watch her peacefully dream, my hand starting to throb again beneath the tightly wound dressings, my head is still pounding. "Link?"

I turn, finding Professor Owlan standing in the doorway of my room. I had called for him and her father as soon as I could through the panic. He fixed her first, then when she was falling asleep after he'd given her something for the pain that had made her tired, he tended to my injuries. I straighten up in the chair and try to stifle the groan of pain from the pressure I unintentionally put on my hand.

"You should try and get some sleep too," he murmurs, he looks stressed, worried for Zelda and me.

"No, I'll be okay." I try not to let my words slur.

I know he doesn't believe me. "Gaepora and I are returning to Skyloft to get more supplies, red potion and bandages. I need his help, but he said you'll be safe here. We'll be back just before noon," he tells me.

Noon. This day feels like it's been stretching on for forever, but the fact is, when I'd woken up without Zelda, it was extremely early in the day still. "Okay," I regard him with a nod.

"If she wakes up, try to keep her still," he says.

I nod again, though I try to keep the movement limited. For some reason, a nervous feeling stirs inside me by the fact that I'll be alone with her again. Zelda's father joins Owlan in the doorway, though his grief-filled eyes are trained on his fragile daughter that could have been dead.

"We'll hurry," Gaepora says, his voice on the cusp of cracking from emotion. I've never heard him like that, I've never seen him like this. Not even when she had disappeared from Skyloft. I think he always had faith that she could take care of herself.

And then they both turn, Owlan giving me one last sorry glance before they return to their loftwings. I take a deep breath against the sudden silence and lean the unbandaged side of my face against my fist.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I wake suddenly when I hear the bed shifting, Zelda's eyes squeezing shut then blinking a few times. Her face is contorted in what can only be anguish, and I crouch to her side immediately, taking one of her hands in both of mine. "Try not to move," I murmur.

"Link," she says softly, weakly.

"It's alright, your dad and Professor Owlan are just getting you more medicine, they're going to get you some red potion," I tell her.

She wrinkles her nose. For a moment I want to laugh at the fact that despite all her injuries, she's turning her nose up at the mention of red potion. "Yuck," she mumbles.

"It'll speed up the healing," I remind her.

"I'd rather do it the long, painful way," she manages to say. I'm surprised she's talking as easily as she is, though I can tell by the strain in her muscles, and the sheen of sweat on her brow, that she's holding back.

"You're pathetic," I joke in a whisper, too worried to put much effort into making it sound light.

The corner of her mouth lifts in a partial smile. "So are you. You look terrible. Have a run-in with a monster?"

My lips twitch, how can she already make comments like that? "Zelda..."

"You should rest, sleepyhead. What if it comes back? You'll be out cold and you won't be able to save me," she murmurs through a grimace.

"Stop," I whisper. The thought of that is too painful. A sharp pain pierces through my stomach, finding her on the ground like I had, but she doesn't move. She doesn't wake up.

"I'll be done for—" she begins to say again, but I cut her off with a cold gaze.

"_Please_ stop," I say. I never want to contemplate that, I never want to consider that she could be taken from me. This was close enough for me, close enough for a lifetime. My voice is close to breaking, and I swallow back a dry lump in my throat at the momentary hurt in her eyes from my demand.

She touches my wrist lightly, trying to keep her eyes open as she watches me, "Lighten up, Sleepyhead, it's just a joke," she says, a small, weak laugh in her words trying to coax one out of me, trying to cover up her recent lapse in composure, how upset I'd made her. Though I take comfort in the fact that whatever Owlan gave her for the pain must still be working if she can talk as easily as she is.

I shake my head. "It's not funny," I barely say, my voice just above a whisper through gritted teeth, tears in my eyes. I know she's probably joking for her own sake as well, to make her not afraid, but I can't even stomach the thought. I can't imagine not being near her, I can't imagine letting her go like I almost had to.

She swallows, a sound audible in all the quiet, "I'm sorry." I lift her hand to my forehead and rest my elbows on the bed, closing my eyes and breathing in her scent as her fingers slowly close around my hand. "Can I ask you something?" she says a moment later.

"Of course," I say, still hidden behind her hand.

She clenches my hand tightly, "Did I open the door?"

My eyes fly open, my breathing stopped. She doesn't remember?

"I... these things keep happening and it's like I'm gone when they do. Like it's not me," she continues. I don't say anything, I wait for her theories. "Is _she_ doing this to me?" she asks, her voice hurt, shaking with tears.

There it is. The thing I've been wondering, or rather, the thing I've somehow known for a while now but have been too afraid to bring up. "It's how it seems," I whisper. I don't know why, but I'm so tired, speaking above a whisper seems too hard.

"I don't get it... I thought we were the same. How is she doing things I can't control?"

I put her hand down, look into her eyes that are filled with confusion. "Maybe... maybe you're just the vessel. You're still Zelda, but she chose you to... to carry her memories, her power, to save this place. Maybe that's all reincarnation is, or whatever you want to call it. Using your body to do something she can't."

"You think that she can choose to make my body her own?" Zelda asks.

"I don't know..." I say.

"Do you think she could take over for good?"

"I don't know."

"Why now? Why does it keep happening?" she asks, hopelessness in her voice at my lack of reasons for her I assume.

I pause, looking at the bandages on her body. "Maybe it's the Arnacht. You... well, last night, when you, or she, took over, she said that it doesn't want you, and it doesn't want me. Maybe she feels responsible. I don't know. None of this makes sense."

"Why doesn't she just show me how to defeat it? Why doesn't she show me like she did with Demise?" she asks me, as if I'll know, and be able to comfort her.

I shake my head, "Maybe she doesn't know how."

"Maybe the only way is to give myself over to it. Then it won't hurt you," she chokes out, a tear rolling down her cheek.

I narrow my eyes, disgust maybe, rejection or something like it rolling through my chest. "Don't you dare say that," I breathe out fiercely. I touch my hand lightly to her face, holding her hand with my other one, "We're going to find a way to fix this. We always do."

"Link?" she asks.

"Yeah?"

"When I get better, can you take me to that place in the forest again? The one with all the forest spirits?" Her voice is quiet, it breaks my heart.

"Of course I can," I say firmly, "whenever you want, okay?"

She nods, "We could take a picnic, spend the afternoon there."

"That sounds good," I tell her as she lifts our joined hands to settle on her stomach, I can feel her heart beating there.

She lifts a finger to her eyes to wipe away a tear that lingers in the corner, looking down at her moist finger before saying, "Could you lay with me for a little while?"

My heart clenches for a moment before I nod. "Yeah," I say softly, standing up as she rolls to her side so that she's facing the wall. I try to ease myself onto the bed with as much caution as I can, careful not to jostle her wounds as I settle in behind her, resting an arm over her waist. "Are you feeling alright?"

She nods, rustling the bandages against her neck. My toes curl involuntarily in sympathy for the pain she must be feeling. My own hand and head are nothing in comparison. I lift my fingers and brush her hair back off her face and off her neck, hoping to alleviate some irritation to the swollen area.

And it's then that I see something I've never noticed before.

It's almost like a birthmark, partially covered by her hair on the back of her neck. There's an upside-down triangle, though on her skin the points aren't sharp, but that's definitely what it resembles. And on all three sides of the triangle are small dots.

It seems too precise to be a random birthmark. But at the same time, it's not clean enough to be a tattoo or something of the like. How had I never noticed it? I'd seen Zelda wear her hair up before, but I feel like I should have seen something like this, especially as prominent the darker color is against her fair skin.

Raising my thumb to meet her skin, I study the mark on her, wondering where it could have come from. It doesn't look like dirt, couldn't be. Zelda lets out a whimper almost as the hair on the back of her neck stands on end, a gentle shiver rolling through her body from my touch. "Zelda," I begin quietly, "what is this?"

"What's what?" she asks, her fingers closing over the spot I had just been tracing.

"Have you always had a birthmark there?" I ask her.

"A birthmark... I can't see it, what's it look like?"

I take a breath to answer, but hesitate when I hear the front door open and close, shuffling feet finding their way to my room soon after. Owlan and Gaepora stumble in, a satchel across the professor's body and a bottle of red liquid in her father's hand.

"Zelda!" he remarks with relief, though his eye glances warily to me once, to the fact that I'm laying in bed with his daughter I suppose, "You're awake!"

After rectifying my position next to her, I help her to sit, propping the pillow beneath her lower back. Gaepora sits on the edge of her bed, fiddling with the cork in the top of the bottle. Zelda's initial reaction is to cover her mouth with both of her hands like a child being forced to eat the vegetables on her plate.

"Sweetheart, it'll help you get better," her father says softly, touching her forearm carefully.

She doesn't seem convinced, uttering a quiet "No," before shaking her head, lips sealed into a straight line.

"It actually doesn't taste that bad," I murmur, I had become familiar with the bittersweet taste while trailing Zelda, after battles that left me bloodied and bruised. Particularly those with Ghirahim. He seemed to revel in my pain, find joy in the torture. I hadn't been afraid of fighting him, the need to find Zelda drove me, but his sadistic nature frightened me. Not only what he would do to me if I failed, but what he could and would do to Zelda if I did.

Zelda stares at me with wide eyes, strain in her neck as she reaches gingerly for the bottle. "You have to drink it all..." Gaepora reminds her gently.

Without a response, she tips the bottle past her lips, and begins to drink, a sour expression wrinkling her forehead. But she doesn't stop, not even when some of it spills and starts rolling down the corner of her mouth. Once the bottle is empty, she squeezes her eyes shut, swallowing past the bitter taste and setting the bottle down. I touch her arm gently, something that I regret when I see her father's eyes gravitate toward my hand. Retracting my hand, I turn to face him as she lies back down, "Can I talk to you for a second?" I ask.

"Of course," he says, standing and following me as I lead him into the other room. Owlan glances at us once but otherwise seems more interested with Zelda's well being.

"It's about last night," I begin nervously once I sit down, "I'm so, so sorry."

"Link—" he starts.

"You trusted me, and she almost died, and I just want to apologize. Though I know I can never ask you to forgive me," I continue rambling.

"Link, stop," he says abruptly, "what happened last night?"

I look down at the surface of the table, tracing the lines and whorls in the wood. "Everything was fine... We were safe inside, it was out there. It kept waking us up, whenever we could get to sleep... and then..." I swallowed, unsure of how he'll respond, "she woke up, and it was like she wasn't herself, she was saying weird things, and then she was walking towards the door, and before I could stop her..."

"She opened the door," he finishes for me, his eyes falling.

I nod once. "I tried to stop it, but it knocked me out."

He exhales slowly, a long contemplative breath. "The rising sun must have stopped it from finishing it's job."

The sun, if she had woken any sooner I might have lost her. "What do we do now?"

The question seems to stump him for a moment, an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air between us. "We continue on as we have... there's nothing more we can do except taking extra precautions. Make sure she doesn't go near the doors."

"You think she'll still be safe down here alone?" I ask incredulously.

Something softens in his eyes then, the rigid set to his brow settles, "I think if she was with anyone but you, she wouldn't be alive right now."

But she's just barely alive. That's something I can't ignore.

"Anyway," he stands up, pacing towards me before settling a hand on my shoulder, "I'll stay here until she's doing a bit better, until she stops bleeding." I wait where I sit as the warmth from his palm leaves, and a heavy pain sets into my chest. I'm afraid for her, afraid for how easily the Arnacht could have killed me before her.

"Link?" he asks then as he pauses at my bedroom door.

I turn around, too quickly and my head pounds as a result.

"Get some rest, son. You look worse than Zelda."


	12. Chapter 12

**GUESS WHO'S ALIVE? Me yeahhh. So sorry this has taken so long. I tried really hard to have it up by last night but then my mom made me play Trivial Pursuit or something? I swear they like to torture me by tearing me away from my dear internet. Yeah, that's how I would have chosen to spend my New Years, on the internet. I'm just your average, near twenty-year-old individual... Anyways, I didn't get to proof-read this, but I will get to that when A) I haven't spent the last 12 hours in a car, B) I'm not about to pass out, and C) I don't feel like I'm going to hack up a lung. HAPPY "GET BACK TO REAL LIFE MODE" DAY EVERYONE!**

* * *

_You'll sit alone forever_

_If you wait for the right time,_

_What are you hoping for?_

_I'm here, I'm now, I'm ready_

_Holding on tight, don't give away the end_

_The one thing that stays mine_

* * *

I _do_ look worse than Zelda. Her wounds are healing cleanly, especially with the red potion helping her along the way. But me, I look half-dead, like I haven't slept in days, which I suppose is partially accurate. I haven't slept well in many days. There are still bruises masking my eyes, dark circles beneath them. Zelda has been up more and more every day, cooking food, cleaning up our tiny living space, painting the walls and furniture in all of our spare time.

Every now and then I'll walk in on her while she's painting, and she'll be still. The paint will be collecting in small puddles on the floor as it drips from the paintbrush, her eyes staring somewhere far away. I don't try to wake her up anymore, but she always comes back sooner or later. She knows I don't sleep well at night, so she makes me rest during the day. But I can never rest when she's like that, distant, in a different mind or place, all I can do is sit and watch her and wait for her to return to me.

She's alone so often. I'm awake while she's asleep, I'm resting while she's awake. Even though we've been living in the same house, not going anywhere without each other, I feel so far away from her. I hate it.

I didn't sleep hardly at all last night, but I pull myself up, splash some water in my face, try to get my body going at least for one day. Just one. "Hey," I murmur as I walk up behind her, sitting at the table as she eats her breakfast alone.

"Hey, what are you doing up?" There's a hint of suspicion in her voice.

I rest a hand on the back of her neck, tracing over the pink scars gently with my thumb. Her skin is sticky with the humid heat that has settled in the forest the last couple days, today it only seems hotter. "I thought we could do something today... if you're feeling up to it."

"Link, you're exhausted. I know you are," she says softly.

I pull a chair over so I can sit next to her rather than across the table, "I promised to take you back to the meadow with the forest spirits and I haven't yet. I can sleep after that."

Her eyes light up when I mention it, she doesn't do well hiding that from me. "We could take a picnic," she offers with a shrug.

"That sounds great," I agree, smiling at her.

"Well you go wash up then, sleepy-head. I'll get everything ready," she says, standing up and taking my face in her hands before pressing a kiss to the top of my head. It burns right down into my stomach, just a simple touch.

It sparks a memory of a different time we'd gone to the grove. When I'd fallen asleep and in my dreams she had kissed me hard. And I had kissed her back. The thought puts a knot in my stomach as I glance down at her while we walk under the trees to the meadow, a picnic basket on her arm, hair tied up and her dress fluttering in the light breeze. Her eyes catch mine for a second and she smirks, my face turning red.

"What are you looking at?" she asks.

"It's nothing," I try to say nonchalantly.

"Hmm," she mutters like she doesn't believe it. "You've gotten taller you know."

"What?" I ask, looking back towards her but now she's just staring straight ahead.

"You're taller than you used to be. We used to be close to the same height, and how you're almost a head above me. When did that happen?" she asks.

The side of my lips away from Zelda lift into a smile, "Maybe it's something in the water down here."

Her eyes seemed unconvinced, but her words agreed with me, "Maybe."

"Hey, we're almost there," I say, pulling her attention back to the barely traveled path before us, the soft sound of children's laughter echoing off the branches.

She grins and it's almost completely real, as she quickens her step towards the sound. Despite all that's changed in the two of us, the meadow is just as I remember it, the spirits playing, the way the sunlight makes every color rich, and the glittering in the air of the mist from the falls.

"It's warm," Zelda says, her eyes almost closed as she raises her face to the sky.

I breathe out, copying her and feeling the sun warm my skin. She's right, where we live the canopy shields us from some of the heat. But here, in the open, the summer heat is thick.

"I want to swim," she says then, and by the time I've opened my eyes and found her in the bright daylight, she's already striding towards the pool beneath the waterfall.

I stumble to catch up with her. "What about the food?"

"It'll still be here when we're done," she says over her shoulder.

"_We_?" I ask, "I didn't bring clothes to change into..."

She shrugs a shoulder and looks at me like I'm crazy, "Well, neither did I."

"So you're going to wear wet clothes for the rest of the day?" I ask incredulously.

By now we're at the edge of the water. She sets down the picnic basket and sets her hand on her hips. "I'll just take the dress off. That way I'll have something dry to put on top after."

"On top of what?" At this point I'm sure my eyes were bulging out of my face.

She rolls her eyes with a smile, her hands already fidgeting with the ties at the collar of her dress. Very quickly it becomes apparent what she intends to do, and I whirl around without a second thought, attempting to give her any privacy. My face is burning, and I'm sure it's not just the sun, and it's only made worse when she laughs. "I'm not skinny dipping if that's what you have in mind."

A sigh of relief escapes my lips, a slight embarrassment that I'd assumed that from her. I turn back around, imagining she must just be wearing a slip like she sometimes wears to bed, something I've seen her in many times.

But she's not.

All she's wearing are her underwear.

"Don't look at me like that," she says, attempting to cover herself with the dress in her arms, "come on, Link, it's not that much different than a bathing suit."

"It's a lot different!" I say, panicked. What would people say? What would _Gaepora_ say?

She steps so close to me I can feel the warmth from her body radiating from her, and drops the article of clothing in her hands. I have to force myself to keep my eyes up. "Just look at my face then. Does that make it easier?"

I swallow, and shake my head though my eyes never leave hers.

"Here, get undressed. Come swim with me," she says, tiptoeing into the water, until her knees are submerged. "It's cold!"

I'm suddenly reminded of that night we went down by the water, when she had gone and stood among the surf and held onto my waist in the moonlight. That seems so long ago... and then she had looked so young, waking up with pink cheeks from her fever, hair sticking to her neck and curling around her face. And then her body had been covered by a white nightgown.

I guess I hadn't really noticed when her body had changed from straight angles to graceful curves. I was still young, still barely paying attention to the things that were supposed to matter like school and training.

Just like that night, she turns around to me and offers me her hand, "Are you coming?"

I have to force myself into moving, and even then my hands fumble and tremble as I pull my shirt over my head. It's not hard to tell that she can see how uncomfortable I am, taking off my shoes and belts. She just grins and waits as I step in beside her, arms crossed over my chest.

"Come on then," she says, intertwining her fingers in mine and pulling me slowly into deeper water, and submerging her whole body once the water passes her stomach. She breaks the surface with a splash aimed at me, floating on her back with a full smile. "Are you just going to stand there?" she asks.

"Maybe," I say quietly.

She keeps her shoulders underwater as she approaches, taking my hands and tugging me after her. "It feels warmer if you just wait a bit."

With some hesitation, I finally hold my breath and sink beneath the surface, the cold momentarily compressing what air is in my lungs and tightening my throat, and when I come back up it takes me a moment to catch my breath. She's right there in front of me, her skin so white from the cold, the pink scars blisteringly obvious. There are more than I thought. With her clothes on, many of them are covered. And I wonder how, with all that's happened, she can smile and laugh and swim and pretend like none of it ever did.

All of it seems so unlike her. The Zelda I've known all my life wouldn't dare undress in front of anyone, wouldn't dare show so much of herself. I try to think of what changed. "It's still pretty cold," is all I can manage to say.

A breathy laugh comes off her blue lips as she skims along the surface closer to the shore, I follow and feel the temperature change from unbearable to warm, the shallow water soaking up the warm sun. When she sits in the water now, it only comes up to her waist, her knees pulled close to her chest. I reach gingerly towards her, and fix her bra strap that had fallen down her shoulder. She stares at my hand as it lingers, fingers brushing against her arm.

As if realizing just then what I'm doing, I retract my hand, using it to cover my mouth and then cup my cheek as I lean my elbow on my knee. "What are we doing?" I ask in a voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" she says.

"I should get dressed," I say instead of elaborating.

She catches at my elbow before I can stand up though, and I hesitate next to her. "I don't know how long it will last."

"What do you mean?"

Her eyes drop, dripping hair falling in front of her eyes and hiding them from me. "My father says we'll find a way... you think so too. But will we?"

My brow furrows as I watch her, she doesn't move for seconds that seem to stretch on for forever.

"I don't suppose that this will last. Playing house. Painting your furniture and making your meals. There isn't a way out of this, and I don't think it will last. So I'm doing things I wouldn't do before, I'm trying to... because maybe I won't ever be brave enough," she says gently, playing with something beneath the water, avoiding my eyes.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Finally she looks at me, and her eyes are sad but there are no tears. "I don't think there's a way to beat it. Except for letting it take me."

My heart sinks into my stomach, because then I understand. She's given up hope. She's given up hope that I can save her from the Arnacht.

"I'm sorry I scared you off for a bit there," she says with a dying laugh, "you must've thought I was going crazy, taking my clothes off like that."

I smile, looking down at my knees, "At least you won't go home wearing wet clothes."

She touches my forearm, and guides it to rest around her shoulders. "Do you feel weird? Seeing me like this?"

My palm settles on her bicep, the smooth skin of her stomach and waist brushing against mine, her knees and thighs leaning against me. "Not now," I tell her. No, I feel at home.

Strands of wet hair trail against my skin as she rests her head against me, running a shiver throughout my body. "You're cold, we could lay on the grass and dry off," she suggests quietly.

I nod in agreement, crawling towards the long grass and laying face up as the spirits dance over our heads, though I have to lift a hand to my eyes to shield them from the sun. She curls into my side, my arm for her pillow wrapped protectively around her as she shivers gently.

"I think I get it now," she murmurs.

"Hmm?"

"You've grown tall because you've had to grow up so fast. We're both a lot older than we're supposed to be... aren't we?" she says.

I nod, she settles her palm on my stomach. "I feel brave," she whispers.

I gaze down past my cheekbone towards her. Her smooth legs graze mine, and though her hair smells of pond, and her flesh is dotted with goosebumps, I feel a dire urge to hold her tighter. "You've always been brave," I tell her.

Her eyes meet mine then, beautiful blue. "No, it's like I feel brave enough to do things I wouldn't normally do... because... 'cause I might never get to do them if I don't do them now."

"Don't you say that," I whisper desperately, "don't you ever say that."

Her chin quivers at that, wide eyes searching mine. "Link?" she asks, her voice breaking.

The way she says my name clenches at my lungs, I love the way she speaks; I hate the way she speaks. "What?"

"You'll take care of me?"

I see that woman then, the one that looks like Zelda but I know she isn't. I see her laying in that bed and the sun is streaming through the windows, and she looks happy. I've seen this before, but lying so exposed in the sunlight, she reminds me of Zelda right now.

"Link?"

Her face is just Zelda's again. "You know that I will," I reply a few moments later. Which is the truth, she knows that I've always loved her.

She sits up then, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she looks down at me, like she isn't sure she believes me, but is willing to lie to herself. "Then I'll be alright," she murmurs, "I'll be alright."

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**oooh that was... unexpected. Even for me. Like when I was writing it I was like "What the freak just happened?" But that's what happens when I write really late at night! Thanks for all the reviews :D**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks for all the great feedback, my top dudes. Keep rocking it.**

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_I know you care_

_I see it in the way that you stare_

_As if there was trouble ahead and you knew it_

_I'll be saving myself from the ruin_

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There was a book she read when we were younger, one with a picture hidden deep within the waves of pages of a house. It wasn't grand by any means, it was stout, and modest. The walls were painted white, with brown shutters beside the windows, and the door was painted a blue like the sky on the cold mornings in Skyloft. Zelda loved that picture, she copied it down, she left the book open on her desk to that page, she always told me she wanted to live in that house. She told me once that some day she would fly away to an empty island and build a house there, and that her door would be blue.

So it doesn't necessarily surprise me when she shows up with a bucket of blue paint at my house. All of my furniture is clean and new, patterns on the cupboards and pictures on the bookshelves. Painting has definitely become a hobby for her, something to pass the time, something to train her thoughts somewhere else.

The only place left for her is the door.

But she doesn't draw any attention to the bucket sitting just inside the door where she had set it down, instead she crosses the room towards the kitchen and starts making herself a lunch as I watch from the table. After what happened when she was taken from the house, I've become a paranoid mess whenever she leaves, especially if I don't know where she's gone. That's when she learned to leave notes for me, detailing where she is and how long she'll be. I haven't seen her since I fell asleep last night.

"Hey," I say, slightly confused by the fact that she hasn't said a word yet.

She turns to look at me over her shoulder. "Hey."

I raise an eyebrow at her nonchalance, her seeming lack of interest for anything. Standing up, I cross the room to see her, look at her eyes and see if something in them is wrong, if I need to worry. "How did you sleep?" I ask.

"Just fine, actually, and you?"

I scratch the back of my head, rubbing the irritated scratches on my arms. "I think I must have wandered away from the house after you left. Because I woke up under a bush," I explain. It had been somewhat of a blessing for me that we'd started locking down the house after sunset, it made it harder for me to sleep walk away. But when she'd left the door unlocked this morning, there must have been nothing to stop me.

"Are you alright?" she asks, turning those great big eyes right towards me.

Nothing, not the slightest glimpse of a secret fear, nothing to hide. Just Zelda, feeling comfortable enough to not acknowledge her absence, feeling no obligation to explain her whereabouts. "Yeah, I'm totally fine."

"Are you hungry?" she asks, gesturing to the food she's preparing for herself.

"No," I say, looking over her shoulder at the bread she's slicing and resting my palm on her lower back, "how was Skyloft?"

It was an assumption at best, but she continues on as if it was a well-known fact. "Good, Dad seemed less anxious today. It's colder up there though," she says, sucking the tomato juice off her thumb after she slices one. She gathers her hair together then, twisting it away from her face and off her neck briefly.

That's when I see it again, something I'd almost forgotten.

It's that odd birthmark, the one that looks like an upside-down triangle, a dot on either side.

"That's good," I mumble, raising my hand off her back to touch the mark. It isn't raised, it doesn't smudge, but it's smooth, like it's just a part of her skin. "Hey, did you ever figure out where this mark came from?"

"The birthmark?" she asks, running her fingers over where mine had been just before, she scoffs, "I'm assuming from birth."

"But I've never seen this on you before, I feel like I would have," I argue, folding my arms across my chest.

"What does it look like?" she asks me.

I bite my lip, scanning the counters and tables and cupboards quickly before coming up with a piece of paper and ink. I roughly sketch the symbol onto the paper, and push it across the table to where she now sits with her lunch. Her eyes narrow as she studies it, chewing thoughtfully on her food before saying, "I feel like I've seen this before."

"You have?"

She second-guesses herself, I can see it in the way her eyes drop, "I don't know. It's just a feeling. It's familiar."

"Something maybe Hylia...?" I suggest.

"No, it doesn't seem that old of a memory. But I'm not sure where it came from then," she murmurs, attention still locked on the paper, "it doesn't really look like something that would just show up randomly, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," I agree.

"I'll show it to my father later, he might have some idea of what it means, if anything," she continues.

"Good idea," I say. "So, what were you doing up there today? You didn't say where you were going in your note." The note that sits in my pocket, crumpled and warped with soft lines where I'd folded and unfolded it time and time again this morning.

I'm sure she can hear the subtle tone of anxiety in my voice. Yes, I had been worried when she hadn't said where she was or what she was doing. I was worried that something was wrong and that she didn't have time to explain further. Afraid that maybe Hylia was making her do something stupid. "Sorry," she says, returning to her lunch, "I just thought you'd assume that I was in Skyloft."

"Well, I did," I interject quickly, "but you didn't say what you were doing either."

"I was picking up dye," she explains around a mouthful of bread, "blue dye for the paint."

"For the door?" I ask.

She nods, as if just remembering the task she was determined to get to and stuffing the rest of the food in her mouth. This is the Zelda very few people get to see, the one that doesn't care about manners or maturity, the one that is comfortable with acting like a child. "I think I found the perfect color when I was mixing it this morning. It's almost exactly like the picture."

"The one from the book," I say.

"Mhmm," she murmurs, "did you ever read it?"

I shake my head, slightly embarrassed. She'd tried to get me to pick up the thing multiple times throughout the years. Sometimes she would bribe me, or leave it on my pillow, or even sit and watch me begin, but I never made it far past the first chapter. Zelda picked up books like they were gold, tore through them like they were food, talked about them like they were old friends. I personally always liked to hear the stories she heard from her mouth, they always seemed to come to life when she told them.

She rolls her eyes and stands up, clearing her dishes to wash later—there are obviously more pressing matters at hand than washing dishes—and wipes her hands on her skirt. "I can't believe after all this time, you still haven't read it. I thought I forced you to that one time."

"You did," I remind her, a pathetic grin on my face.

"How far did you read then?" she asks, sitting back down.

"Hmm... I remember the part about a river, one that never froze, even in the winter time because it was so fast," I attempt to offer. It was a long time ago that I read it, and to be honest, I was paying more attention to how hot the room felt when I was trying to read with Zelda's unfailing, steady gaze on me the entire time.

"And...?" she prods.

"And... that's it," I respond sheepishly.

She raises a quirked brow in amusement, "Link, that was the prologue."

I swallow back a laugh, so I hadn't even gotten as far as I'd imagined. "Well, maybe you should explain it to me. I have a much better attention span when I'm listening to you."

She smirks, trying to hide a smile as she picks up her feet off the floor and crosses her legs on the chair. "I won't do it as much justice as the book."

"Then tell me about the house. Tell me about the house in the book, why it's so important," I say.

Her eyes fall slightly then, her fingers tracing patterns on the table as she tries to find the right words. "The little girl in the book," she begins quietly, "her father painted the door of their house blue, so if she ever got lost, ever wandered too far from home, she would know which house was theirs by the blue door. She could ask anyone to point her towards the house with the blue door, and she'd find her home again."

"Did she get lost?" I ask, the room falling to silence under the mystery of the story.

"She spends most of the book lost," Zelda answers, "I just always thought it was a nice idea, for there to be something that could guide you back home."

"That would be helpful," I say gently, "because I have a bad habit of wandering away from home."

A smile graces her pink lips, "We should get started then if you don't have other things to do."

"Things to do, who do you think I am?" I ask her with a laugh, "the last time I had something incredibly important to do was..."

"Defeating Demise?" she suggests.

"Okay, okay, maybe not _that_ far back."

"The point is, you're free to paint now, right?" she asks, getting up from her chair and crossing the room to the bucket of paint she'd brought in earlier.

"Exactly," I say, joining her in standing.

She tucks her hair behind her ear as she bends over to pick up the bucket. "Link, could you grab the paintbrushes from on top of the book shelf?"

"No problem," I tell her, reaching up past my head to search for the paintbrushes we'd stored there. I sweep my hand along the smooth wooden surface, seeking out the handle, when suddenly something pricks my palm, and I pull it back quickly in shock. When I look down, there's a small scratch, just beginning to turn red from the rising blood in the center of my hand.

"You okay?" Zelda asks, judging by my gasp that something's wrong.

"Yeah, I just cut my hand on something," I mumble, dragging a chair from the table over the shelf to stand on, not wanting to blindly hurt myself again. When I climb up, I find the paintbrushes I'd been looking for, but there's something else; the object that cut me, no doubt.

It's a jagged, thin piece of metal, and as I take it delicately into my hand, I can tell it's not only weathered and old, but charred like it has been through a fire. "Hey, what do you think this is?" I ask her.

"I'm not sure," she says, giving up on the bucket she'd been holding and drawing closer to me, "I found it under your bed when I was cleaning your room one day."

"Huh, I wonder if it's another one of my sleepwalking treasures..." I muse aloud.

"You know what it kind of looks like to me?" she asks, taking it carefully from my hand, putting it against the wall and pretending to turn it, "A door handle."

I watch her face as it turns from interest, to puzzlement, to near distress. She closes her index finger and thumb around the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut. In a panic, I step closer to her, taking her arm as she battles something within her own mind. This look has become all too familiar.

Though it only seems to last a moment, and the moment I touch her, she pulls her way back to me. "Are you alright?" I ask in a low voice.

She swallows, a shaky breath hissing from her lips as she puts the piece of metal down on a lower shelf, her hand trembling. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

It's what she says whenever she has an episode like this. I try not to linger on it though, I know it only makes things worse for her. "Well then, we should get painting, shouldn't we?"

Her smiles begins to form again, unsteady at first, but she nods in agreement.

We paint in silence for the first while. I know she's still pondering on what happened to her, to be honest I can't get over it easily either. It scares me every time. It scares me that she's going to drift off into that state where she can't hear or see me and that she's not going to come back. She won't be able to say my name again, and it won't ever hurt the way it does when she says it.

"I'm sorry," she finally says to break the silence. I incline my head towards her slightly, just to guage her expression, expecting that she's apologizing for earlier.

But when she glances up at me like she's about to laugh, and before I can comprehend what she'd doing, she flicks paint in my face. It startles me only briefly before I can retaliate, flicking my brush towards her so that some of it gets on her clothes and in her hair as she turns away in preparation for my attack. Laughter is all I can hear as she bends over, dipping her hand into the bucket of paint and then lunging towards me before I can escape, smearing the blue paint wherever she can reach.

For a moment we're children again, and for a moment we're playing in the mud on the banks of the river in Skyloft. For a moment nothing matters except getting her back.

By the time the assault has finished, there is blue paint covering both of our hands, our clothes are spotted with it, flecks of it dotting our faces and strands of it in our hair. There's probably more paint on the both of us than there is on the door. We're both laughing so hard that neither of us are capable of an intelligent statement, except for when she finally tells me she gives up.

Smiling, I take a step closer to her, trying to wipe away some of the paint that's on her eyelid so that it won't get into her eye, but all I do is spread it, more of the paint from my hand getting on her face.

And slowly, my eyes gravitate to hers. They're watching me intently, a light in them, her cheeks pink from laughing.

So quickly, I'm not even sure it happens, she presses her lips to the corner of my mouth, reaching up on her tip-toes and lingering there though our faces have parted. She searches my face, searching for approval or recognition, I can't be exactly sure, because in my mind are a million thoughts clamoring for attention. But they don't matter, just her face, flecked with blue, looking up at me so earnestly, pleading with me for honesty.

And so I decide to be as honest as possible. I cup her face in my blue hands, and bring her lips to mine.

Everything in that moment is flying around us, she's the only thing that's stationary. The next moment everything is moving so slow, and my hammering heart is racing past it all. She doesn't seem to care that my fingers tracing through her hair are covered in paint, and I don't mind that it's covering my clothes as she rests her palms on my chest. Everything is beautiful.

She pulls back once, but doesn't wait long before slipping her lips between mine again, they're softer than I thought. More dangerous than in my dream. "Link," she whispers against them a moment later.

There's that trace of panic in my chest when she says that, just like there always is when she says my name so softly. "What?" I murmur back.

She hesitates, just gazing at me as I gaze back. "Nothing," she says, her teeth glimmering as she smiles. I smile back, her face, despite now having blue hand prints on her cheeks and neck, is more beautiful than ever. I'm grateful for this moment, for a moment so pure that can remind me how beautiful the world is. That's all I need.

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**There, you guys happy now? Haha so many people were just like that rage face pushing their faces together and saying "NOW KISS" so you better be pleased. We cool?**


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